Without Measure

Without Measure
by Gideon Burton

The birth of water, all that's hard and smooth,
The breath of stars, and all the winds of night,
Whatever heat lies sleeping in the grooves
Of glassy rock. Whatever moans in weighty might
Beneath dark oceans restless in their mass,
Across the folds of time unknown and lost,
The jungled eons stripped of all their past,
The desert's patience and the speed of moss,
More soft than shadows resting on our moon,
The rhythm of a billion breathing souls,
Too much, too late, too long, too far, too soon
The fire ebbing, smoldering in its coals--
    The vistas mourn, contract their awesome span
    As mornings measure me, again, this man.

Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - Iván Cabrera