The clock has turned.
Once? Twice? I cannot tell. But it has.
It beams full as the moon.
Years passed are done. Not gone, just quelled into silence.
Within and without.
The place is Changed too.
A cattle farm smelt earlier.
Now it wafts death and renewal my way.
That burdens my heart, and I wake to find we are mated.
What resolution that fills the urn yet leaves space for ever more. A mirage?
No quite. I Read the road signs and charted course.
This place, Gilroy, bestows a benevolent mend.
And for that I am grateful.
- Rajnesh Domalpalli