There goes the moon
Again:
Half-hatched egg of serpent,
Sliding up a
Gone-past blue sky.
I feel them all,
These whispers without whispering,
As they rattle secretly -and not –
Around this real-ether world.
We’ve never been face-to-face
Yet, disturbingly, and its opposite
She knows me so well.
There are moments, she says
Without speaking when she hangs
On my words. There are days,
I know when I am held in thrall by
Her brutally innocent intuits:
Questions without marks.
“Were we not more whole,
More in touch, when we respected
Those who commune with serpents?
When we recognised the snake as
Healer rather than nightmare?”
Shimmering features –
A fire in a fire –
Slip and tease,
Glimmering gold on gold,
Like the immortal sun
Inside its mortal self.
Icons intertwined of
Past and future –
Together and in opposition.
Gilt-armoured serpent
Seizes and consumes its
Own warrior tale.
This is treasure,
This is shield,
This the breath,
Turning days to precious,
That goes on forever.
7/1/2012
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