Summer 2008 [Issue No. 14]
The Holy Ghost
I dream you tell me I haven't accepted the Holy Ghost
and I tell you I'm learning; now that the children
are older, I fear death less. Bees hum over rotten
apples, leaves spin through the air and break
themselves on the hard ground, animals burrow
underground, and soon snow will bury it all,
its white surface the absence of the rhythm
that carries nature to it, a silence as deep
as my son's sleep. And it's always been
the cessation I long for and fear at the same
time, that pause between heartbeats, the moment
a wave is sucked back into the sea,
a dreamless sleep, wings folded into a body.
I watch the blue heron fish in our pond,
its body poised in absolute stillness, waiting
for the moment to dive or fly.
All content on this site is protected by copyright laws. Unauthorized use of any material, graphic or literary, is strictly prohibited. All work © by the artists: all rights reserved.