Poem 135: Simple Gifts

that you cannot contain,
own or disown
her voices bending
this light for you now
hand held and arcing
into this darkness
that you fear,
surrendering
your devils
and familiar spirits
to her velvet web
that tightens the strings
of the formless,
balancing image and deficit
Indra dances for her
his lines of fire,
tracing and burning
sacred space
into a seedless
shaping and sleeping
love where love
lies between us,

and there are
waves in this,
maybe even stars
as they become
a rock of ages
cleft for me
as is her hair shining
into her eyes
as they bleed
on to a young woman
bending over
an old woman
bent over and
whispering light
into her shell like
loving gravity in her mirror
the shallow grave that
reflects only this times
transitional space
while silent flowers
acknowledge the debt
of a glass of water,
a piece of coal
simple gifts
for her daughter
to dream life
into the dead of night
while she sleeps
in her deepest wing,
a swan gliding her
into the warm edge
of between.