Heaven, heaven crowned, the stars were lying upon the ground, that whiter blanket curved without a sound and leapt the blessed air entwining this coal black strand of trees all now sequestered or blurred into a kingdom of shadow. Dissolved message, one metered meaning moored. Contrasted majestic burst of sliver crystalline question; A mystery which ascends within us. Silver, sliver reflection sky is the window, bird spin the wind blown tell me of your dreaming.
So within the message of a child, fathomless this unforming,
forgive the breath of wishes as trust is no harlot. Red , red
palms sway the dusk oasis-invite sure picturedom
and share that longing. Finding you there again,
a small table in the breakfast nook; swaying, surging
through stronger strands of stubborn light, you know
we never made duplicitous deals and it was always
simply being, that gift.
That milk white mothersome light, O curious teacher, engraver of changes/ Moon tide or "watersong", an eternity of our soft forgiving eschews the mire, as what becomes real enables the rest-a surge of Winter stars crest our broken light and the living continue. It's easy to think of you Neruda, at just twenty, discovering your solitude beneath a yellow canopy of that dark continent. What wet, jade shadow jungle surely witnessed this soul's first perfection?/ In an instant flow of connection or in the loving turn of a newer poem, one vision clad measure which breathed salvation; as fireflies dazzled golden grasses, rain softly fell/ and into silences before words, two white doves split the damp air with their songs.
-T. Byron Kelly