Poem 137: Anubis Dreams of Being a Hawk

light moving
inside dark water is
blood dreaming
for the earth,
as the tillers chain of light
seeds the plough of darkness,
to caress the shallow nerve,
open the vein,
and the liquid dreams
of the hawk on fire,
carved in gold,
spinning the cycles
of the moon
as a tide moving in the
blood of your hand
held up against the sun
and glimpsed
through the fingers
as a pigment of brightness
behind the legend
as he spirals
down to pierce, tear
and embrace the surface
and flicker of skin,
releasing the now
of blood, sealing the city,
ceiling the dream,
as Anubis goes hunting,
evergreen emerald
between the eyes,
hung on leather
an exacting smile,
perfecting the balance
between hunger and love.
and all that you knead is blood
as the blood of the river
dreams of the night shade
in the light lifted day
in soft angles and hard curves
winged in charismatic time
as the statutory talons
and wheeling shadow
of the hawk flash
the mute pylons as
stations of the cross country.
against the sun backed
crowning of clouds,
where the song of the thorn
winged into the side of the heart
echoes upward and above,
as one true cry
hawked into the pool of air,
then becomes
the cry that will vibrate
and shatter the land.