your muse has black wings but
your words, breeze-light as rain
falling on heads, pink-pleated & flower-crowned
may your hours be filled with white
crisp pages & pen, smell of lavender & lemon
tea rising from the warm pot, taste of
freshly buttered bread, seranade of
birdsongs from robins, calls of owls,
laughter of children, chicory flowers,
sights of life unfolding
and vibrant river moving, you
are lifted
out of the silence of your space, out of
the skein of your clothes
the limbs of your books
the roots of your apple trees
(sorry, but the mail bag is full)
you are one with the rooks
rolling bowling calling squalling roiling boiling swirling whirling*
black wings glinting & stretching
& flying into starlit sky
I do not know the notes of your songs
nor do I know where you are heading to
but the windows are open
and i only know this:
thank you
for the gifts of wings & words
~~~
Inspired by her lines in Always Fire:
From ‘No mail – no post’:
“No words.
No rhymes, no poeming tonight,
just this blank space,
this white page,
stretching endlessly”
and
“Find me a space here,
tucked into the silence.”
‘This Doesn’t Feel Like Home Yet’:
“A bird sings,
but you don’t know the notes,
this window opens
onto streets you cannot name
and words you can’t decipher.”
*Rooks at Twilight
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics : In Conversation with Sarah Connor. Hosted by Kim Russell. Thank you Kim for the wonderful interview. Thank you Sarah for all the time you have shared with us at the dVerse Poets Pub.
