Prism – Poem of a Beginning (Prose Poem)

It was not a prism, but a dream with sides.
An ancient dream, walking images, shining moments
and turned in hands or glances, or both, with icy calm
but fiery soul. It was not me, but what I’ve been upon the sides
of what was, maybe, prism of tomorrow. Tomorrow, day
of not returning to the night but of walking upon its other side
in a new dream. In your hand I feel that you understand me.
You were there, in the strange, white side of straight paths
spiralling curves of search upon the snow with beacons.
And I was there, in the escaping laughter, in the river that hid
the dark byways escaping to the sea. A sea which could not be seen
upon the side already turned to the span of a home still sad
but parading silhouettes open to the windows unopened in the air.
Messages or presages of light and those who would come, and I there
in the awakening line. I laid dream down upon the side of lips
and of breasts with kisses and words that would utter, sweetly
the colours of not knowing how to utter the maps of arrival.
I know that you touch me, in the diffusion of sides. It is not a prism
but being absolute and to be all the faces, all
within the face of a nonpareil dream. Upon a quiet lake floats
the white rose I left there and on the sides flits the dawning
of red petals while the blue, above, is gush
that spills from sky to sky the time of everything. Within the sides
of this convergence, the prism. And at the center, us
still moist from the tide which the dream flooded with all
the refractions of the flame. Upon the edge of the wind
still the curved sigh of arriving home. The sun has bloomed.

© 2006 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®