Transformations

[Guest guest]

What is this molten drop of form?

It is not ‘my’ body any longer.

It is a wave-crest flying in all directions.

It is a burning bush.

A tree pounded into dancing particles

by the hot wind of Your Love.

 

I am full of dancing angels.

They are emptying every cell of me

and refilling them with light and sound.

They dance like stars in a cosmic plasma.

No sedate waltz this,

but a rhythmic drumming,

a sonic blasting,

a becoming to a new dance.

No one can dance like this

without throwing their shoes away.

Throwing their heart away.

 

Nothing in my hands.

Nothing up my sleeve.

Nothing to do but be poured out.

Poured into,

poured into nothing.

 

I am a tree and the sap is dancing.

Every little leaf of me trembles

and bursts into flame.

I have lost my voice

for every atom of me has its own voice.

I am the chorus of a new creation.

Ask me a question- Anything!

I am an answer.

Nothing from the head though.

I cannot find that old hat anywhere.

 

Its dangerous to be me to day.

If you come too close, your heart will tap dance

or tango, or go capering off on its own.

Before you know it,

I will be pulling you apart

just to see how you look naked.

No, don’t come near

I am a burning tongue

and I can only speak as fire.

 

What is this body doing?

It is not my being

it is an orgy for two

in a place beyond time or distance.

The moon is making love to the sun

and I am pregnant with their lust.

All my children are being born at once

and the womb of their birth

is dancing them into this body

as lava flowing into an ocean.

The air dances in praise,

and I am that dancing.

That praise.

 

 

love

 

eric

 

 

 

Copyright 2002. Eric Ashford.