We trust in time to heal all things.
We trust in time, like a strand of hair
that was and isn’t and then regrows,
to furnish us with everything needed.
To hold, to birth, to witness,
to watch the fading out to blue smoke,
of all that we had thought
of immense import.
Yes, we trust in time to open, close.
To exist as separate,
but overarching,
holding us subject to its turning –
while still spreading out,
like a prairie unrolling,
flattening
under a long summer sun –
or a lake with ripples,
stillness so wide that we cannot see
beyond its edge,
its full-blown presence.
Hence the night that falls
at the turn of day,
a defining edge,
shows no sign of the doors to open.
Instead everything,
a whole existence,
perches like a dew drop
on a length of grass,
intact, complete
as a prairie spread
in the morning sun.
That we can trust in time
to heal all things.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
June 2020
