Sunday, May 30, 1999

Sacred

white as winter
the center of the sun
how can it
does it
become from
this blue behind me?
Uncountable as the stars
betraying purity
in discrete steps.

Slow as sand
making the green glass
soft, rounded
and only a jewel when wet.

Risen from shards
a previous life
some vessel in the sand
broken and spilling
into parched summer earth,

Seaweed with envy.
Sage in the air.

I a woke with a start
heart racing.

The moon shone swiftly across my face
and morning crept in behind.