The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.
Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Monday, 21 March 2016
spring equinox poem 2016
for Zara and Jonathan
Last night, after the flute, as the moon
rose over the fire and the pines leaned closer
to listen, we spilled our stories one-by-one
to the flames – our hopes, our dreams, our fears.
Suddenly from the belly of the dark wood
a rook rose flapping and creaking its song
to the night, and something in me
struggled free at last from its tangles and knots.
You remind us of how harmony and sympathy
can triumph over conflict and antipathy as you speak
your tale, scooped from the heart of the flames,
of the dance of sun and moon in the great cosmic crucible,
how light and dark now hold each to the other
in equilibrium. Later, following the flute, stepping back
with you through roots and humus, feet finding the way,
I remember again the paths of re-enchantment –
how we are not alone amongst the wild things,
how the stars come down to touch our faces,
how there is only this, this trust, this mystery,
our stories, this fumbling for the way.
© Roselle Angwin, 21st March 2016
- ► 2017 (68)
- ▼ March (7)
- ► 2015 (78)
- ► 2014 (123)
- ► 2013 (157)
- ► 2012 (199)
- ► 2011 (283)