Monday, May 28, 2018

 

A duo of mourning doves
joins me in mourning
the morning.

Waking from sleep's numb rest,
I recall the hovering healing knife,
its incising stroke descending on us.

A stone-mute sadness weighs within
and something scared in me
would wish it all away.

But some fierce phoenix deeper within
burns to have us befriend the dark fear,
seduce it into sunlight to heal itself and us.

Older than even pain, she hovers
on fragile wings over fear's burning pit
and calls forth Life's claim to living.

We hear her call and go together
to face our fears, let courage seep
between the cracks, even in our tears.

With us, within us, goes the phoenix,
her flaming breast holding the fire
that, though falling, rises, rises,

ever to heal again.

For Marilyn
March 22, 1990