It is here
That beautiful thing
Moving like a shadow
In my periphery
It dances through slanting blinds
At dawn, it is draped across the horizon
A brilliant orange
Blue
Pink
Behind me as I run
Toward a new sun
Still rising
A cluster of butterflies
The smell of earth
And later the golden grass
A paddock of shadows
Waving as one pattern,
like fur moving when rubbed
It is the feeling of awe
And then it is silence
No words at all
The same in grief
And when paralysed with fear
Or when the world falls quiet
just before dawn
Or sometimes it is a cacophony of words
Squawking
Too many to choose from
Or is that just me?
Yes
Because when IT speaks
I cannot write fast enough
And when I stop
It is in joy
Love
My heart beating fast
I may be deep in a task
Yet I would drop anything
Anyone
To write what it says
Follow where it goes
Holy
Spirit
speaks
And I listen
For some it is a paintbrush
And I’ve been there too
But I prefer the sharp spell of words
Telling me
Falling into sentences
Words
Life unfurls
And I watch it
Moth to flame
Poet to name
Describe
This beautiful thing
That loves me
Singing
Energy dancing
There
In my periphery
Just out of reach
In the gap
Between
Unknowable
Unnameable
And me
I could spend the rest of my life chasing it
Or leave it be
As a mystery
I know is just here
Nothing to grasp
Or point to
The only evidence that it has been
Art
Where once there was a blank sheet
Filling with ink
From something not me
Moving beside me
Just out of reach
Grey
Gold
White
Yellow
Flash
A fairy wrens eyelash
Palm of my hand
Empathy for the bent and bowed old man
And feeling a sudden rush
Of deepest love
Almost more than I can bear
In a small crickets chest
As it leaps
Lands at my feet
And then leaps again
Coiled springs releasing
And why would it be there?
Because we are connected to everything
And everything to us
Me
It
But only for that one ecstatic storm chasing moment
The lightening arcs
And lands
Riveting
The rest of the time it’s a hand out of reach
I wear it like a coat of sunshine
Gratefully
And hope it won’t go astray
I can’t carefully fold it and tuck it away
It’s not for hoarding
Or storing
It’s not even mine
But if I use it constantly
It will hang around
Like light
And goosebumps
The intangible memory of a delicious meal
Eaten in a dream
Five minutes
Before I am awake
A conversation with Mum
That I couldn’t have had
She was so sad
I woke up with tears on my cheeks
If that was dreaming
So is this
Craft.
A life lived with poetry
Strewn with meaning
Constantly weaving
A coat of sunshine
Not quite mine
But I can wear it
For this blessed moment in eternal time
I can wear it
But it isn’t mine
Small girl
Red umbrella
Against a blue sky
Why?
Because you didn’t see her either
Until I wrote the words
And now you can’t unsee her
Walking
With a red umbrella
Blue sky above
Why an umbrella
It’s not raining?
Ha! I know me neither
Love.
What an incredible feeling.
