Soul Mist

My soul is mist over the valley,

my flesh the ancient forest

hidden beneath it,

and deep inside my chest

a stillness, a dark pool
surrounded by fern and trillium

where thought may not enter,

nor past nor future arise.

Here I thirst and savor

your fertile silence,

swelling sea of stars

inside a scarlet berry

crushed on my tongue.

I cannot tell you any more

about this place except

it is our furrow,

where we lay together

before we had a pulse.

In Winter the sap of the rose

comes here to remember

its seed.

This is where the wild

gentle purr of the lynx begins.

Here a child rests in recognition

of what it is like to be

her own Mother.

Come, follow your heartbeat

to the place where nothing

was ever wrong,

original innocence
burning in the emptiness

of a raven's echo.

What has fallen has fallen,

broken into muddy shards

of perfection,

shoots of new green nursed

out of the moldering umber

of the old log.

Now we gather in an icy bulb

of molten gold
that might become a bell
of honeysuckle,
or one touch
in each others fingertips.

Returning again and again

to the place where we

were never two
is not flight,
but transformation.

Not a circle but a slow
and constant rebellion
against eternity.
There is no escape
from this breath.
It is our only home.
___________


Listen to this poem.