Water to Wine

(In Memory of Larry Yohn)

I saw as in dreaming
a vertical sea.
It tilted and hovered,
its spirit now free

with sunrise behind it.
Through that golden swell
this madness had risen,
yet, still all was well.

What seizure of passion,
of something not known,
What wryness, what strangeness,
what sense have I grown?

I saw fishes leaping,
each lit from behind,
and music was lighting
a fire in my mind.

The sea-birds kept calling,
confused in their flight,
the sea kept on rising,
not minding their plight,

and all that came dancing
and rolling to me
were deep whiffs of essence
that flowed from that sea.

It sang in my bones, then
it spoke through the grass:
"Some things are immortal,
and some things shall pass."

My heart grew stone-heavy
for what I must grieve
in anguish. Naught's endless.
Someday I must leave

Earth's beauty, her glory,
and all of her bliss:
the fruit of all labors,
your morning-sweet kiss,

the softness of night-time when
mockingbirds sing
of soaring the free skies,
what morning might bring.

Yet coldness did still me;
it froze my mind clear
of blindness: I loved it,
not least the most drear.

In secret, in pain, still
I loved all its strife:
unreasoned, unmindful,
it is, simply, life.

A gift from the giver,
the song at its birth,
The gifts of the giver -
who dares what they're worth?

Is this what's immortal:
not life and not death,
But that which is whispered
in each final breath?

A single small entry
I found in a book,
I passed by it lightly,
just barely a look.

Is this it? The rapture
that's finally mine?
The coming of love
turns the water to wine?

I see now so clearly
that vertical sea.
It tilted and tumbled back
where it should be

with sunrise above it.
Its bright golden swell
says love now has risen.
I hear "All is well."

Anne Yohn
November 1999