A Note from Grace

I saw you looking through

the red leaves, hot bark

to the lake of our chosen fate,

glancing backward at all the sad escapes.

 

Your mirror,

whimsical as dance,

tried you hard,

turned your forked tongue

to brown reaching root,

moist as a woman.

 

Dare I ask you

to become you?

To hold your hugeness

in my bones?

 

You are father, ancient as beginning

and you dare not hold your own.

Every single shred of you

leaves at each beginning.

Yet you hold your honor with such dignity,

as if it were wholeness itself.

And when I creep inside your veins

I am lost in the sweet smell,

the urgent taste,

the power of infinity in each

of your sacred cells.

 

Let me feel your

music

begin again.

 

 

 

If we only knew how big we really are!

© Andrea Mathews, 2014

dreams

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