Moonlight on the Meadow

Day by day I grow the hands of a man.
I walk the hills, a view of the stars, a heart below,
a heart above, where water reserves hold shelter.
 
I cross the river, a passenger calling,
the words I utter no less than a garden,
across the years with what I please.
 
There is a patch of green, a broken hearth
where seasons speak low into the landscape's ear,
beckoning breath from the birds of blue & yellow & the swans & herons
that see me less  & less.
 
Behind me a cuckoo calls,
the low distances, the low thankful place.
 
I post my letter,
premonitions unseen on either flank,
the country I knew, white there, green here - a tale of my time
broadening like a ducks bill.
 
Through it I walk to the water's edge,
without regret, with faith, faith won in family,
a kingdom that is ours, as familiar by moonlight
as it is by day.