White Paper

When the sun comes in, out of the cold,
mind drifts in momentary dreams of peace.
Begins, the anointing; morning
chants, steps closer to the cafe, I enter
the world of words       zero visibility;
train signals pass  - a circle of mist
My slender arms; palms slide toward earth,
small sun bracelets; finger cymbals - click,
(sound within sound within sound), sound
gives way to silence and disconnected
memory - a nation of flag-draped coffins,
numerous things undone; certain prayers
God answers; unconventional geography
strolls shameless through ground shores,
circles borders of half-lit rooms, our
perfumed world tendrils around prayer;
(Heavens anoint remote villages and this
blue air of late autumn) In matching hues;
sky-blue, worry-free, our foreign affairs
are meaningful to each little one born . . .
My dream is an earthy thread; New sun
streaking across the white paper of freedom.

Deborah Russell, © 2006

Poets for Humanity, 06