HEAVEN AND EARTH

So many inspirations

in the world I inhabit…

Daily I come upon magical gifts;

they open themselves before my eyes,

and my soul is amazed at the wonder revealed.

A dragonfly – as elusive as air –

is suddenly still…

five feet from my trembling heart.

For a timeless rapturous moment she stays,

as I press the shutter again and again:

Heaven has offered itself to me…

and I am receptive.

Earth comes in the form of a ravenous turtle:

weighty, substantial, and trusting enough

to eat from my hand.

This particular earth-form comes when I call.

“Hello Baby…”

has him climbing a tree

in his quest for banana and me.

Our morning encounters are grounding

to the airborne Gemini that I am.

Perhaps this explains why the turtle came first

on my most recently decorated pot.

His round weighted contours

settled  sweetly onto

the dear little vase

as my own earthy weight

settled sweetly into

the process of bringing him forth.

The dragonfly hovered and flirted,

teasing my mind with unattainable beauty…

before it flew into my hand

and out of my pencil.

Days later,

I held the vase in my hands,

 turning it slowly.

It was then I realized the balance

I had unconsciously brought into being.

I saw the air descending

in response to the earth’s ascent,

And I saw the earth ascending

in response to the air’s descent.

I held creation in the palm of my hand…

and all was well.

DRAGONFLY SONATA

A Dragonfly makes silent music

and yet I have heard it for all of my days.

As a dancing child,

I followed its lilting tune…

it’s arabesque of flight.

My imagination

attached pearlescent wings

to the angular blades protruding

from my childish back.

Loud and clear, the whirring duet

we played together

accompanied our dips and rises,

loops and hoverings.

Our landings were a crescendo

that no else could hear.

During my middle years,

the Dragonflies’ song was an invitation

to engage in a passionate pas de deux…

et trois, et quatres.

Love is the dance I mean

in its various guises.

Harmonies and disharmonies

were interwoven.

I often wept as we flew.

Entranced by the multitudinous mating dance

accomplished in mid-air,

my lover of the moment –

sharing my bliss –

 heard the melting notes of a cello,

and I fell with him into the wet grass

forgetting the dragonflies.

Now as I listen

for the very last movement

of this long sonata,

the dragonflies seem scarce…

their music not easily heard.

When I see one,

my old heart still rouses

at the longed for opportunity

to join the dance again.

Yet these days

even the dragonfly’s flight

seems more labored than before.

The soaring notes of childhood

are simply not there;

the sensuous drawn out love-dance

is a vague and uncomfortable memory.

Now the weighted silence

of the solitary diva

is profoundly beautiful…

 though dying out.