if after heart-haunted nights, I ask for light, then so do the blue-shadowed trees, their whispers a symphony in my head– spring waking–a rhythmic poem winged in exuberant crow-dance, a promised gift, carried on diamond-sparkled water.
I ask, I listen, I watch, I believe
stars sing, soaring through time, reborn in bird and berry, bloomed in rose.
My poem from the Oracle. She made me work a bit, so I gave her the Redon painting. We’ve had snow, sleet, ice, and rain this week, and today the wind is gusting–but the sun is shining, and each day it rises a bit earlier and sets a bit later.
And in the after-fever, haunts and haunted linger–
but with a beat, the dream ends, and above my bed, the moon still sings of time and love, and endless things—
of winter aches and purple storms, of thousands dead, and the forlorn
recalling spring, mourn the light– today there will be no rose-pink dawn amidst the shadow-spray, only grey.
Yet cloud-fingers point, as if to say behold the way the diamond-sparkle plays on the ripples there–those other days.
Your heart cries why, your head knows when the honeyed glow comes, you’ll see the beauty once again.
My message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. When I looked outside early this morning, I thought, there’s no rosy dawn today. It’s cold and windy, and the sky was full of dark clouds. The Oracle always knows.