The Dove
1
my body writhes
and pokes at sleep
then recoils
i groan and
in between
i cry out
Ma! Ma!
sleep comes
like a light
switched off
suddenly
i am lying
on my back
in perfect
summer grass,
looking up
across the
empty night sky
soars a dove
like a shooting star --
white wings,
like luminescent chevrons,
brushing the velvet sky
the beauty
startles me awake again
and my heart cries
Ma! was that You?
once again She has
bewitched,
bewildered and
bereaved
in the space
of a heartbeat,
of one pulse
of a wing in flight
illuminated by a
flash of lightning
and then She disappears
back into the Unknown
2
I long to see the Dove again.
my fractured myoclonic sleep
is like a glass whereon is painted
Her mysterious heavenly stage
and Mind
is the lightning flash
which illuminates Her flight
but at waking
the glass shatters
into myriad
broken, static images
i gently gather the shards
of that exquisite vision
and piece them together
ever so carefully,
shard by shard
i re-create
Her creation
i put on Her feathers
one by one
my hands smooth
the broken wings
so She can fly
put the broken beak
gently back into place
so She can speak
breathe my own breath
into Her,
hoping…
and waking, clear
i see Her rise
to Her proper flight
wings shadowed
in the pale morning light
the majestic and fluid flight
of angel wings
enliven and complete
the morning sky
and her soft call
plays a flute in my soul
who are You?
i ask
and She replies
I am That which Is
as well as the longing for It
I am the power
of hope
in the heart of the lover
of the Unseen.
I am the consummation
of Union
of the one who is consumed
with the most Adorable One.
-- c. 2004
Share
Print
Save
Follow
