So much I feel the lake lap still
in crisp new Spring’s liquid sun sharp
with winter’s nip at my shameless,
unshod, bare toes where soft spring breeze
tickles glistening water sheen.
Momentarily I shiver.
Sun glint on each wavelet brings clear,
real nearness to each fleeting ripple,
but at some way off in the morning haze
those solid castle walls now seem
a dreamy shadow, not quite true,
as much a ghost as spectral knights
and imagined long dead archers
beneath a roof long rotted away.
Every little curve of water is less
than a breath long, but whole lifetimes
watched those stone walls stand. I think
long borne, unforgiven old hurts.
scarred memories can be like that:
firm, unyielding, but misty shapes,
stuck on landscapes of me.
But in this new son light
Under spirit wind’s soft breath they
become mere ghosts from forgotten times
while bracing eternal waters
wash me in their gracing life flow.
© Johan Rich November 2011