In This Life

- jan-u-wine

Bird-song.

Pearl dawn.

Blue-green Sea.


Sounds which are colours,
colours touched by muted sound.....

I feel
muted

myself.....

grey as the horizon where the soft
veil of sky touches the mists
of the Sea.

No sound escapes my mind,
I have no colours to give to the wakening day.

Yet,
it is peaceful,

it is good,

somehow,

to feel emptied thus,

and to know

that which shall fill me,
in time,

will speak of Light
and the gentle spill
of music that rises
in my dreams.

'In time.'

I am not in time,
now.....

no,

but balanced
somewhere

between the last moment
of that life

and this....
 
(what shall I call this
small space

of being

between one moment

and the next?)

I was not aware,
even,
that I drew breath,

but now I see it,

pale smoke
lying upon the morning air.

I feel my heart beating
in my throat,

hear the noise of it,

like a sea-shell held
tight upon my ear.

It startles me,

this proof of my being,

it wakes me,

as if I were a child
pulled sudden from dreams.

The Sun spills rose-gold warmth
upon my face.

Fractured stars fade from the window
of the sky.

A grey-limbed tree, its rough face powdered
with Spring-mold,
claims my hand.

Almost, I imagine,

I can hear its thoughts,

running slow
at the dark edges of my mind.

They are good thoughts,

deep and old

and green
with life and the sweet pull of earth

and the music that plays beyond
the circle of the World.

The hand which holds to the face of the tree
has but four fingers.


I smile.

I do not know what this means.

In this life, I do not know.

In this life,

I have no need to care.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The small voice of the bird
threads itself upon the face of
dawn,
spreads a cloak of sound against
the cheek of the sky,

finds its end within the sharp
glint of playing waves.