The power of this Stillness leaves a mark on All It has touched.
It is not for me to foretell how these markings will find their way
Into a book, a poem, a play, a dance, a painting
Or the heart of a freshman in college
Or the rambunctious energy of a toddler.
I do not know
If Fire will leave embers
To keep the hearth warm
If Air will continue
To conjure primal metaphors
If Water finally satiates
Communion of desires
If Earth will bare itself
As a Round Brown Woman
Holding her cup of potions
Of Remembering
All that's been uttered
Without words for millenia.
***
Tonight I take down the books of Summer from the bedside.
If someone asks me what I did this summer I will tell her that I disappeared into a Cave and dwelt among ghosts and angels, lizards and dragons, songs and reverie.
I will say that I dated Eros...that she led me to the Gatekeeper's den and we took back the key, released the dead bones and took them dancing.
Soon it will be Fall. With Fall comes young bodies in search of their faces.
But I will be thinking of another ocean and a sea of brown faces in orange skirts.
Oh, Beloved Stranger -- always, always, I return to You.
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