I sat on the hill in silent reverie,
And only the raven’s talons
Biting into my naked shoulder
Before she took flight
Made me draw my gaze from the golden moon
Riding just above the tree tops.
Following the soft sighing of the raven’s wings
I stood, bathed in moonlight,
And descended to the nether shore.
Among the trees a shadow followed,
Deeper than the forest’s dark,
The bear, my joyous guardian.
A frog joined in the night’s song,
While the full and heavy moon
Sank down behind the trees
To leave the unfathomed skies to the stars.
Now I saw a figure on the shores of the lake before me.
The raven’s sharp eye had found out the spark,
Calling her silently from the hilltop,
Down to the man with the fire.
Now resting on his shoulder, she shared her ken
Bending down to the hidden face.
And there, for a short moment,
I thought I heard the flame in the hand
Murmur to the stars above,
Who whispered wisdom in answer.
But then my toes touched the waiting waters and
My reflection fled in fiery circles across the lake.
The flame kept burning deep within,
And among the stars above was only silent awe.
© jsmorgane (Sept 2012)
Moving across my face.
My face falling,
Like crumbling mountains.
And each corn of sand
Dancing like standing stones,
Trembling in shared solitude
To hear your voice.
Like the moon forever kindling,
Casting one blind and one seeing eye.
Like the sea, coming and going,
A mirror pool of reflection,
Where from the deep it grows,
Rippling through the ocean,
Calling water to water,
One salty drop to another,
During the searing heat of day
A cheerful brook had told me many things,
For which to seek I left
The shelter of the cool and silent house.
Beyond, I found a bridge
Fallen into disrepair.
A sorry sight, this state of sure neglect.
So without hesitation
I crossed the bridge with steady step,
Returning to it some of its former dignity.
On the other side an orchard lay,
With apple trees, and further still
Uncounted waves of fields rolled
Far into the distance.
Bending under burdened trees,
I found my way, dappled with light,
To the very heart of the blooming garden
And there I saw a well, run dry:
A sigh of sleeping air,
When I tried the pump.
I took the cracked crock,
Half-hidden in the grass,
And in the dimming light
I ran for water from the brook.
Spilling most along my hopeful path,
I poured what little water there was left
Into the dry well’s thirsting trough.
But from the mouth no water came.
Instead, a many dozen fireflies
Flew from the dry well’s spout,
And danced around my head
Like a crown of living fire.
© jsmorgane (July 2010)