Hello. It’s been a while longer than usual I know, but I haven’t been at the desk dear reader. I’ve been out there, outside, without this technology, straying onto new paths. I am still out there, listening to seeds opening in the fires. I’ve come back now, briefly, to send this for the coming light and to give thanks for the blessing of your attention thus far. There is a lot brewing and to be shared in our coming time but, for now, here’s this and a farewell until the other side of it. Thank you for being here.
Praying for Peace Everywhere.
Solstice
Only the tree barks remain, running the river down
to tap root, heaving on the lime streams. No leaf now
to spread the falling cloud bar the evergreen
who keep on, catching at the ocean’s homing
toward these fires which glimmer out of stretched night
across the flecked skeleton of the returning oak king, his twisted limbs
holding the weight of Mars at bay, the bared swathe of the hazel
hedgerow skirted, curling and burnt, in unrelenting briar leaf
and a yellow tang of willow spurs out of the woods edge
There is this still, a no-time between, when the emptied wave
sucks back to the ebb tiding, down and out of my spine
void of the sap’s rushing sap, a pulse, silent in these ears
Yet the stream sound’s unhindered by the sated flesh
of summer, she rolls a pearly song around her stones
and rattles it up, into the bared crowns. I wait, then wait
to sing my inept laments to the passing of lamentation
long gone like so much else in my machine deafness
and its return discerned so very faintly in the distance
like a recovery dream, seen via the glaucoma in my turned blind eye
Cwtched close then, with the story and little else
but clues as to an essence of a self and arms spread, holding
always close and one dying hand, curling a tight fist
around some rosehip, holly or yew berry, with poison
enough to guard Spring. Light, here is my beseeching
your return, to keep my flame through another winterfold
and kindle in a heart gone out, beyond the selfing flows
a return toward spring’s risen mystery, harmonies
of mighty love, to travel with together, prevailed
to carry on, even through these darkened days
Now, the solstice sun’s setting light pushes still
through the mottle of a gull grey, inside of a bone skull sky
carts joy and burgeons the oranges of a distant burn
tingling the grasses to a bright lime, for moments, firing
the hazel row to a russet edge and in the hemlock, landed
to the meadow, purple to lilac, brown to black like old crusts
of dried-up Summer blood, the end of the begin again
the anticipation for our time-paths to cross, to pass
each day’s endless chances at the cusp
of dying to the candle dark and striking the next match
I’m off, back out to the fires now, back out there, straying.
Until next time. With Love from here.
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