I remember before the child was born
now nearly a quarter of a century ago
when I would touch your face in my dream
and wake up and cry my tears and move
like molasses through what I saw as
my lot in life. Then I just thought
I was unlucky, thirteen candles
blowing in the wind, extinguished 
one by one, my fire dimming.

But then a glimpse: you, who were
the first to hold him outside of family in some
weird convergence of synchronicity and flow
and you, always the last to know.

I remember before the last candle went out,
me extracted with precision from the Body
and how everything collapsed in me,
two thousand years of condemnation, history 
and the clearest knowing that I had been
shortsighted in my view of how he moved
still through me and you, made separate
through your sheer will but the both of us
held as one in One, so loved still.

And in all the irreparability you cast
upon me, I shed a thousand skins, emerging
free and clear into this present mileiu, seeing
the beauty of who we were through time.

I remember how when the world was in
a state of emergency and my life up in flames,
without words, without even one soul
to sit with me while you had dozens,
maybe hundreds, rallied round just
as before and I was shaken, shaken,
shaken to the core, utterly destroyed,
shattered and broken open, reborn
as a dove with a single olive branch
with all the world calling relentlessly
cuckoo coo, who the hell are you?

Through the three years of silence
and the unspeakable losses for the child 
and me, I came to trust the vision 
and all the messages given.

What to make of these three remembrances
and all the forgetting to which you cling? 

What to say of all those who abandoned me
because they believed some association 
with you, the one they have made into a god
was required by your presence here as rod
of light they mistook for iron will?

What to do of the collective blindness to the living
staff that blooms with roses white as snow?

I await the three remembrances
and revelation of a mystery.