Twilight gathers dusky wings
into long sleeves of evening,
dreams through the night.
Moon silk lights the way to dawn
awakening tide pools and travelers.
Wind moves between time with
ease as if knowing timelessness.
What if we could live as seamlessly
with no resistance? What if time
and matter didn't matter?
As sun pays homage to morning
in ribbons of mauve and apricot,
it leaves the rest of the day in our
hands. We can find miracles beneath
small rocks or fault lines in sand.
A Place for Hummingbirds
A clutch of hummingbird eggs nestled
in seed down and feathers, bound
together with spider silk, adorned
with paint chips and flowers, rests
in the pocket of an apron left hanging
on a clothesline. Safe from predators,
protected from wind.
A light bulb in the basement, beneath
a bridge, in a culvert or deep ravine.
In the unremembered. The thin shell
between us where we hide what's
most precious. Where we break.
Out of sight, in that cradle of silence,
the cocooning of seedlings and small
things. A fluttering, giving vent to
birthing its opposite to see itself.
Those moments when forgetting
is an art form, spectacular sunrise
free of restraint, we revel in the absence
of veils and artifice, all separation,
and recognize the call of bird wings
to a more authentic even dangerous
place to rest.
An aerie open on all sides with no
ground. Nameless. No maps or
hidden corners, a seamless flow
of river and rain. We cannot abide
there too long, just long enough
for understanding to dawn.
Like hummingbirds, we seek refuge
Dried leaves and twigs shaped round,
resting in the crook of a lemon tree.
A hint of blossoms to soften night's air,
the intimacy of feathers settling in
to roost. A place for dreaming.
Safe . . . moon calls, igniting
the nest in a spray of silver.
Remember you can wrap yourself
in solitude or claim the fellowship
of sparrows and shadows.
Borrowing the wings of an owl, I search
my heart for the feeling of home, that
realm where my spirit can rest. Do I
need to let go of everything I know,
all that I am, to fly without reference
to a place I never left?
Carol Alena Aronoff, PhD, is a psychologist, teacher and writer. Her poetry has been published in Comstock Review, Poetica, Sendero, Buckly&, Asphodel, Tiger's Eye, Cyclamens & Swords, Quill & Parchment, Avocet, Bosque, 200 New Mexico Poems, Women Write Resistance, Before There is Nowhere to Stand, Malala: Poems for Malala Yousafzai, et al. She was twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize, participated in Braided Lives, collaboration of artists/poets, Ekphrasis: Sacred Stories of the Southwest, and (A) Muses Poster Retrospective for the 2014 Taos Fall Arts Festival. The Nature of Music was published by Blue Dolphin Publishing in 2005, Cornsilk in 2006, Her Soup Made the Moon Weep in 2007, Blessings from an Unseen World in 2013, and Dreaming Earth's Body in 2015. Currently, she resides in rural Hawaii--working her land, meditating in nature and writing.
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