Who Speaks This Silence

[Guest guest]

Who Speaks This Silence? - Ashford & Lane

Who writes these poemsthat emerge half formedlike polar bears hidden

in snow?Who the authorof the souls lightning bugs, and the serpentine

scriptureof our deciduous rain forests of discovery?

Here along the riverbed of my life,

Black bears and blackberry metaphors abound.

Authored in agate, jasper and jadeite,

Stone-cold light penetrates to the heart

Of my desire. In the evergreen forest,

Now, where I stand, ripple-fed imagery

Is playing from OneHeart in pine-pitch and chord-wood.

And these questions melting into formslike glass blown through warming

lipsinto a glass menagerie,or Russian dollsone fitting within the

otherlike the secret hearts of roses.

I secretly coveted a tiny box with tiny dolls inside.

It was Guatemalan, and a gift given to another.

My desire to possess them became overblown,

Like a Bourbon Rose in an untimely heat.

It was fitting when, one day after I had obtained them,

The only question that arose was this –

“Why do dogs always chew up what you treasure most?”

What words wind us through desert windspassing through the hollow

bones of reasonand planting a green truth for the hearts oasis,and

who tells us and says uslike clouds and rain?

Last night the storm-sky cried solar-sparkled teardrops.

The wind wound around the bend as the Friend

When the Friend was crying sighs

from memories of strains

of a song called “Mariah.”

It passed through, then died in my arms,

Held open wide in ancient asking for Mercy.

This agronomy of earth tendingand sky husbandrywhere we gather thought

into speech,and what is saidis a river bed for some other flowing.A

becoming not owned by the tongueor the headwaters of a little sacred

writbut is the whale and the waspand the golden chalice of

fleshpoured out as bird-songthrough the untamed eye of these love

poems.

The sky is my Husband and I wear His ring of blue as sacred crown.

The earth is my Paramour and I sleep Peacefully in His Autumn’d Arms.

The river is my Wedding Bed and I am filled with His Fluid Movement.

In the Wild Calling of Love to Itself,

The Manifesto of Mercy, Mercy most profound,

Is unbound and every Love poem ever written

Is found, found…dropping blessings, blossoms

>From the Totality of our Existence evidenced

In the outpouring of the Inpouring of what we cannot say…

loveeric

Love,

Mazie

Concerned that messages may bounce because your Hotmail account has

exceeded its 2MB storage limit? Get Hotmail Extra Storage!