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)