II
The Talents of the Shore
il penseroso
Where there are no poetic words
When the moment catches in my throat
And threatens to choke me
Then
And perhaps only then
Does reality reveal
Her crystal palace
To me
Love, and its efficacy
Rebirth, and its all powerful dream
The world is an re-invention
Our birth
Is a narrow path
That curves like our lives
Through the magic forest of a dreamless sleep
And there
At the foot of Goddess
Fallen from a head from which millenia unfold
In rivlets of perfect harmony called Souls
(For they bend, as well
to catch each other
Falling from Her cosmic womb -
cosmography - )
The curve meets itself in Her Aspect
And Her Eye
And, in so doing,
Draws the circumference of Her mighty girth
One soul without the other
and we would have but one;
Earth,
The Goddess dreams of you.
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