Tuesday, January 22, 2008

musings by the fire on Winter's lap

The eye of fire with lashes of flame
stares through me, into my soul,
to the back of my head- the face I never see..
illuminate the parts of me
that can only be seen when all has fallen and
there's nothing left but naked bones like
the black velvet veins, arteries of sky,
the horizon of lace silhouetted by the January sunset.
The sky puts on her party dress....you know the one...fuscia and orange with a pink sash.
She's going out tonight and leaving me to go warm another face.
The air is wet and warm,it's confused, it thinks it's in New Orleans not southern Indiana.
It's sending a postcard of Spring that says "Wish you were Here" but I relish the burlap, bare season...I don't wish it away.
Spring is a coquette that flirts like everyone wants her but she's not raw and ripe and real like Winter's shawl and all the stories that are remembered in it's long loud silence.
Every part of my being is spinning
like the Earth around the Sun
and at the nucleus is Adam and Eve
the Divine Mystery thats fueled by the play
of Creation and Destruction , of life and death...
put on your little black dress and let's dance on our graves
Dance with me til we're dizzy with delight
from the brilliant shine of it all.

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