EIGHTH DAY


That time...
That space...
Where all is resolved.
Where equilibrium covers
The face of my Earth
Like a nascent Noah's Flood.

Where every tear I've ever shed;
Every sigh I've ever breathed;
Every knot that's almost severed my neck

Is released, erradicated, redeemed...

* * * * *

I have only seven days -
Filled to overflowing with
Cups of both joy and pain.

But, in your Eighth Day,
Is a glorious Narnian space
Where Wardrobes and Witches
Transform into Wings and Wonder.

Your mystical Eighth Day
Makes sense of the other seven:

Without it, the cycle becomes
Merely a downward spiral, endless.

* * * * *

... You aint got nothin
But love, Sir -
Eight days a week...

And suddenly -
There are no
Yesterdays.