Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Magick Morning (A poem)

Blue dawn hills misted,
Moist--I've emerged from
The Blessed House of Love
Into the Garden of Paradise…

Chee-POOO! Chee-POOO!
Twit/twit!… Twit/twit/twit!

Here in this quiescent turn
      of the yearly wheeling,
Birdsong frets through trees
Bearded with Spanish moss
Of ghostly conquistadores,
      more enchanted than lost.

The gravel path crunches quietly 'neath my clogs
Eloquent of heavy misting,
Not quite rainfall
Despite dripping from eaves
Of the new metal rainwater-collection roof.

There's a future:
It's here… you may touch it
In the pace of this open heart.

Chee-POOO! Chee-POOO!

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