WINTER
by Carol Kohli

The scepter lies broken on the field. 
Greensward, unblemished, stretches before the eye. 
Battle cries long ago ascended, lost among the stars.  
The absence of conflict fills the silent air. 
 The world hangs in abeyance between past and future.  
An errant thought sets the new course;  
the completed cycle becomes ancient history,  
recounted in a new context, subject to narrative and vision. 

Life slips away. A single breath separates us from the abyss. 
To live in the presence of death is the best preparation for life.  
Certainty is an illusion. Change is inevitable; 
so is the final yielding. 

It is over. Time has the final say.  
No more casting about for hopeful possibility.  
It is time to be still to wait to surrender  
the earthly crown with grace. 

Let the bell buoy toll the return to the eternal sea,  
the infinity of water cradle scorched bones softly,  
til all settles silently in the dark depths. 

Where does the universe end? It' s expanding- 
expanding into what? What's out there,  
billions of light years away, that it's expanding into?  
Does the universe think, feel?  
Does it consider its demise its speculated collapse in on itself? 

What happens then?  
If it were an entity, would it be male, female? Would it be kind? 

One with the whole, we take the spectacular ride,  
live the questions, die with them still in our hearts.  
From the larger perspective the answers may appear,  
and we may say with relief and satisfaction, "of course."