
The snows of yesteryear
When lost for words
I reach for the poets
Charles Olson
or François Villon
luminous words
scrawled on paper
genius is almost always low tech
it comes in flashes
in aperçus
in fleeting moments of insight
All that has been
suddenly is : time
is the face of recognition
where are the loves
of yesteryear
the snowfields of yore ?
Each of us has
our own unique antiquity
some die in their bed while others
swing from hallowed gallows
Notre Dame
a place of visitation
a monument to belief
in the resurrected spirit
John Lyons