SPRING DAY
SEVEN
To what larcenous star are you now
bound,
child of stolen Blossoms?
It took my dreams of you in some
mystical
stroke of soul-sculpting beneficence;
its blazing beams shattered
my compass, bent my axis into a frozen
sea,
rendering me a wintering tree.
Long sorrow is mine like the missing
hour or
mouldering shrine that
no more call to the flame.
I tread water.
I waded between states into a livid mist
with
the shadow of a lost voice for
my only tether.
I drowned every season in a tideless
ocean till
I lay fettered to its floor,
destitute of all colour.
I defined your absence. I forged its
void into a
presence, a blade stark as life’s
bitterest realities, that drew black fire
from my
mutinying veins even as I
birthed its angles with smites of my
pulse,
ground its lines mercilessly sharp
with the belt of my nerves stretched
atom thin.
Its hyperreal art breathes, bonded with my flesh,
beating with my blood.
It impales my depths like a breakwater,
yet does not shield my spirit’s shores.
Time’s boughs hang heavy with my
bestowals
of names and nameless nothings;
breathless non-verse and a wordless
script of
forever snow born deep in my bones;
the discord of feeling and sequence
that
subsumed me in its frosty mire.
I am empty of meaning and become a
metaphor.
This April dawn found me in the heart
of silence,
this most eloquent of seers,
amid dark rocks, playthings of winds
and
breakers arrayed like shards
of a wreck or fragmented vignettes of
the Spring
day you sang to seagulls
under a blue haze they call sky.
I now hold an image of the hands I
protected and
memories of all they will never make.
The cove curves like an ear, the
horizon raises a
veiled blue eyelid;
the air shifts - I am the watched and
the heeded,
far for a spell from shakenness
and grey oblivion, from the miscreation
of my wearied mind.
A wisp of a breeze whispers around a
lonely pile
by the waking brine,
around seven pebbles flat as the cloud
filtered
light stacked like years,
in reverence to a single bloom
atop its austere craft.
And I perceive all emerge and merge
with sudden
acuity under a rising sun of knowing
that drapes the waves that dance with
your feet.
Life moves between love and wisdom,
between arcane and incomplex, each
element
a vehicle for meaningfulness.
A trembling, a gossamer shivering on my
cold lap
in the windless calm ruptures
the moment’s chrysalis. A winged flower
awakens
amid brightening cherry blossoms I
shall
scatter into your eternity, so palely translucent…
(like moonlight…like your hands…)
as to seem almost insubstantial.
White-veined petals flutter…skim across circles of
yellow satin…ascend with morning
as though to pass into another sphere…
Could I garden the petrified loam
within, unearth
an evergreen wish, that I may journey
to our strength, into Springs you shall
see
through my eyes?
© 2021 Lilium Candidum
Lily’s Verse
Image: twitter.com (Credit to the Original Artist)
