Poem for Sunday

Over my shoulder

Fire in the veins I had, a glow
of youth and poetry, and yearning
for adventure; far to go
I had, on dancing feet that knew no roots,
but I had seven-league boots,
I thought, to make the journey.

In glittering caverns, fingertip-
deep in rhyme,
I walked north, south
and upside down
where verses dripped,
honeyed verb and noun,
into my mouth
like water and lime.

Talents glinting like new gold
here, there and anywhere
I flung, largesse
strewn with a careless air
as if the mine were bottomless,
when I was young and bold.

Art in the hands I had,
lacked only time, that fled
and vanished faster
than hands could write of pain or laughter.
Then, gold and fire and water meeting
years back there or hours ago,
I learned what any fool should know--
that art as well as time was fleeting.

By JRC, 197_