The Hour of Resurrection
The tangled web of naked oaks
Bathed in early morning light,
Cuts jagged faces in a sky
of peaches and cream.
My Lad is gone. He was my pillow
Until three AM, when barking savage
He thundered after the coyotes
of Luna Butte.
I arise from hard earth to greet the morning.
What is this great cry inside my breast?
My winter heart is melting fast
Breaking into light, or music, or water.
A spring burbling within
Welling and spilling, cool and fresh.
My throat longs to sing
In the tongue of the meadow larks
My tongue longs to taste
Dewdrop fingers of grass
My fingers long to cling
to sticky sap of pine, as I climb
Into the secrets of the air.
My heart is a tree,
Branches inching into Heaven
Roots inching to Hell.
I am filled of light and water.