{"id":920,"date":"2026-01-23T21:52:13","date_gmt":"2026-01-23T21:52:13","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bexroden.com\/?p=920"},"modified":"2026-07-09T17:38:32","modified_gmt":"2026-07-09T17:38:32","slug":"eastward","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bexroden.com\/?p=920","title":{"rendered":"Eastward"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\n

I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you.<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

— T.S. Eliot
<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

We do, each of us, move like the sun
from one crest to another. 

Though some have learned to turn, 
follow shadows in the evening--
go where they lean<\/em>.
There, they say, in the dark pockets that form 
as we stride, where the light can't quite 
touch the ground, we might find a spare second (or two) 
cresting like an opal in the sand.

And some, in turning, have learned to pause. 
Secure with Venus rising at their back, they watch 
the land bleed into sky as night falls and the two become 
indistinguishable.

They are the ones who don't fear the dust, 
because sometime long ago they learned to play with it, 
to gather it up in fists and pour it over their scraped 
and bug-bitten legs until they felt the earth pulse 
beneath their skin.

They are the ones whose feet, untethered, 
lift from the warm red dirt.
They cannot say which way is up or which is down 
or where the wind will take them.

Left with the imprint of an eastward gaze, 
they can only imagine where they are and what they will do
and whose arms they hear 
stroking the air beside them.

They are the ones who have found the question 
half buried on the path: what happens when<\/em>
the land becomes the sky?<\/em>

They are the ones who say,
there is wonder
in a handful of dust<\/em>.<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
June 8, 2025<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For my nephew on the day of his birth.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I will show you something different from eitherYour shadow at morning striding behind youOr your shadow at evening rising to meet you. — T.S. Eliot We do, each of us, move like the sunfrom one crest to another. Though some have learned to turn, follow shadows in the evening–go where they lean.There, they say, in…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-920","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poems"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bexroden.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/920","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bexroden.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bexroden.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bexroden.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bexroden.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=920"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/bexroden.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/920\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1062,"href":"https:\/\/bexroden.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/920\/revisions\/1062"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bexroden.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=920"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bexroden.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=920"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bexroden.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=920"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}