I fell upon a lie
a shard of silent purpose
forged its shape
it cut me
down to bleeding bone...

We are the tellers of your lost tales
and you are the writer of our words;
we are the Speakers of your unwritten history
and you give us voice to be heard.
The same circle that sent you out...

I saw myself beyond the glass of time
I saw a certain self I thought was mine,
I tried to open time's tight windowed clasp
and reach that self
just there beyond my grasp...

I am a million miles
from last October's moon,
it's a memory past forgetting
like each picnic perfect June
For each season's grace retraces...

Fast upon the heart is fastened
every truth and every aim,
yours to seek and yours to honour
yours the effort, yours the gain.
Tight as if some mantle clinging...

Some believe it's a blessing
some swear it's a curse,
this I that looks out at the world
and in at the universe,
hearing itself...

I view my consequences
vacant of regret,
journey's end
unmet,
I am caught...

In whose purpose goes unwritten
but within the soulful twine
of every word that's heard unbidden
twice divided – once divine,
return the gift - with added measure...

For you,
whose tearless rage remembers
past potentials’ promise,
sweet upon the face of crying angels,
heavens part...

Tight between the mountains peeking
star of wonder points the spot
where the days last dawn lies weeping
for our future - freed yet caught.
Layered in stone plateau, our footprints...

In that deep dreamless sleep of any ebony
evening, when the edges of tomorrow appear
silhouetted against all of your yesterdays, Hope holds
out her hand and you rise again through starlit space,
to know your purpose is yet unfulfilled...

Who holds in place
the holy shroud
of moon and star
and sun and cloud
that veils...

Who makes divinity
me or you?
What answer
such mystery?
What folly! ...

What vision fearfully flees its fate,
or believes itself arrived too late
to whisper into Being's ear
and reach that self
the answer only fate can hear? ...

Beyond the lights of city nights
and chorused carol's rise
the gleam that starts within the heart
shines brightly through your eyes
and fills the space ...

Will death redeem the wounded soul?
repair the broken heart to whole?
re-mind the empty days of thought,
set free, again, the life time caught
within the bell jar's perfect shape...

When we were little girls
we ran
everywhere,
without shoes,
truly naked...

As refolded hope turns forward
into peace without regret
beyond the backward glance of love
that cannot be re-met,
to know the wings unfurling...