The idler in Riga

Yesterday I nearly wept
To hear the ancient tongue
Cascade around my ears
Sublimely ordinary
Plain as a sandy dune
Carved by endless dark winters
Intense like an eternal
Too short summer
So unbearably sweet

The rythms cradled me
The voices called my soul’s name
In tongues yet older
All slung across helplessly

I wept for all that’s gone
All that’s lost
All that’s rediscovered
Ragged by grieving
But still sound still standing

In the fathomless geography of the heart
Are journeys as yet untaken
Rivers yet unrafted to seas
Unstilled by weathering

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