We all live in the certainty of time

wondering in dreamstates of life sublime.

A child would live Sunday mornings through You

Seeking answers in a gaze, sky streaked blue.

Might happiness just be attained like that

a conscious choice, an idioscyncrat –

Tick, a charmed ballet in life’s aftermath,

In autumn’s grace cleansed anew, without Wrath.

We are told, were, when we want, will, whether.

The storm brutal if not held together

by the seams tied within our sheltered soul

such spirituality keeps me whole.

In my ag-ed eyes, my learn-ed release

I do in the still … seek a Sunday’s peace.