at the end, the precipice. no signs forward no signs back no bridge over no wings to fly only wide open black space descending down away from the sky
Then a movement in the wind catches my eye in this world of black and white there at the crossroads the devil waits under the black yew tree in the early night waiting there for me under the rough yew tree his black hat doffed, courting me once more a secret love, it never dies that long ago was born And once again I see Him calling softly for me under that dark yew tree it is him there seducing and pointing toward the precipice
behind this demon love there a carousel appears singing tinny melodies from forgotten Depression years
round and round she goes where the children are nobody knows there are only empty painted horses and music no one hears
and I on knife’s edge teetering as the carousel horses leer they know you were gone forever and also know you returned. As you beckon smiling, (a great black bird sweeps by) in the bird I see your beauty in the greyness of its eyes I contract, I fly… seeking you in flight on we soar once again through the joyful black night
Morning comes, wind-music singing in my ears I have not yet noticed that you disappeared Gliding still there in the sky with you I am a bird and then I notice no more carousel and No more grey eyed man of flight.
spinning arcing wheeling falling out of control I stare alone down the windshear precipice once more and hear the sudden clicking slide of pebbles falling down this deep dark hole
where do you go when love is flown and taken truth and souls?
i am swept up in grace No longer myself but a vision I once had briefly a flash of light you created anew the stars know as does all of creation that you move among us soundlessly the gardener in his garden pronouncing everything good you are the artist painting rainbows across the sky the blue jay brushes against the sky blue look close In the blackness of the raven you hide subtle rainbows shown by sunlight you are not in the thunder but in the poetry of silence; in the sound that raindrops make or the hushed glorious way that sunbeams touch the earth at end of day in the feather softness of wings in upward rushing flight listen the music of the spheres symphony into the aurora borealis transformed dancing here below You are the graceful muted movement of deer steps in the woods you are the soundless, steady movement of color weaving through the trees in autumn the low music water makes journeying ever downriver You are. somehow your still silent voice is louder to me than crashing thunder profound in its depth and tenor Listen the wind whispers you everywhere you are I am I am