Tassels of Eternity

Poets were asked to sit with this quote and write whatever it brought to mind. Three of the outstanding responses follow.

“Time is the border of eternity. Time is eternity formed into tassels. The moments of our lives are like luxuriant tassels. They are attached to the garment and are made of the same cloth. It is through spiritual living that we realize that the infinite can be confined in a measured time.” – Abraham Joshua Heschel



Dawn and a tree’s shadow
merge into canyons of dark

They snake across the lawn
like thick arms of Hercules

Something in me yearns
to collapse in their chasms of joy

Morning rain baptizes the sod
slakes the plants’ budding thirst

Sky honeycombs into blues
as jays splash their birdbath dry


So much comes to us as light
clogging our eyes with quanta

of love faith old Greek virtues
O how they fracture through our selfish prism

So many rough-cut pieces of bark
lovingly stitched together

They form a coat of single colors
that I shall never be asked to wear


Light wraps its rays around my mind
illumination purges my pangs of darkness

There is only one living world to act in
it cannot last a day without passing away

I cannot last a moment without expiring
into this mortal frame of broken parts

Deep lanes of green start the instant I walk
I gain altitude from footfalls of light

that shine upon my coffin shoved
roughly through this straitened gate


I breathe by narrow air holes
drilled above my head

and squint at the light glancing
off sacred gestures of grace

In this darkening arbor of absurdity
a new path dawns at the luminous edge of my feet

© 2022 Arlice W. Davenport 

Eternity Fenced

We are one fabric of many threads
woven filaments and strands of goldenrod
and silver hair twisted and knotted into cloth.

The tapestry of the world is a map
unbounded at the edges, a globe of burlap
and silk, wrapping our shoulders like a shawl.

What are the rivers and the seas but a tight weave
of azure, green, and navy blue needle-stitched
in stolid blots of ink and wire spirochetes
coiled around empty cylinders of nothing.

But at the edges, where the ships disappear
and the lovers lapse into afternoon siestas
tassels of gold tinsel shimmer and wave, keeping
the fringe of eternity penned out by a fence of brushy frills.

© 2022 W. P. MacLeod

Immersed in Tender Acts

Can time contain me in unmeasured length
or light that spreads interminable waves?
Can I weave tapestries devoid of touch
or grasp the essence of a flower’s breath?

My voice will echo from the mountain cliffs
and spew from mouths of hot fissuring springs;
enrobed by the blue body of the sea
but never speak in doubt or servitude.

Divinity immersed in tender acts
has stood apart and sheltered from the din
but prophets arrive heralding the fall
shepherding winds that break a shuttered sky.

Gray tassels hang from rich pillowy heads
with lips that stutter the credos of wealth;
if in impoverishment find myself
then what is least is greater within me.

© 2022 Argus White