Rising, Just Steadily Rising

This has been a blessed day in a blessed market town.  New, this is, as new as can be:

20 September 2015

20

Rising, Just Steadily Rising

The mother of all of us—rivers and branches, and dry twigs and leaves that just lately there hung—
I’ve opened my eyes to the lovely young morning we both would have been if you’d only just sung
before we—congealed in a dream , the sad recently killed game who raced on and on through the maze
that no one behind either set of our eyes could ever have called out, These scarce-mortal days

have blood for a serial rhythm that all the low, soft, tender sky never knows how to read—
whilst standing about, good or ill, always watching. She a sad sight, broken body in need
of tenderness shorn of all thoughts of its source. Reach out, most shyly, but feel your hand held
where some very beautiful, magnetic wonder has always called out, and you’ve always been spelled.

When I was only a wee sense of shadow toward a glad moonbeam as moons rose and shone,
I held full sway in a lantern-lit hall as the Moons of our world told me, never alone;
never the slightest bit out of our seeing; never without the least touch of our skin;
you’ll raise your eyes on and on and dream lightly all night, and come dawn, wake again, and begin

to shoulder the trouble that once made us very much wonderfulness you could never attain.
All of your presence of mind and a little bit worn out danced muscle and pain—so much pain—
Riddle the page of the music before you forever, then fall back, and let your soul sigh.
Eyes turning up to the wonder of Mother—Rivers and branches, I can and will die.

If we’ve awakened too early, my hand will reach out, and your own will wait, beckoning, still.
Nobody knows where the whole spirit goes when the last solar rose climbs up over the hill
that usually blocks out the stars we most cherish—as nobody knows where we’ll lie down this night.
Rising, just steadily rising, and never not rising—I’ve loved song with all life and might.

Hello to every poet round these parts.  Have a blessed Equinox Holy-Day.  Welcome, autumn!

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About J

Just poetry, in several forms.
This entry was posted in imagination, literature, love, poetry, song, spirituality and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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