From Cyndera Quackenbush
You came in Spring
What seed survived your incessant stirrings?
Plenty –
Yet you swept away all falsehood
A wind-whipped cleansing
Of all not Rooted
Branches, no longer reaching,
Betray their trunks
Totaling city cars with their wayward weight
Meanwhile you sing with insistent whistling
Through the Open Gate
Invisible, you are known outside
Heard Inside
The effects are visible
Especially in my hair
Like the soul, you cannot be seen
While we witness your presence everywhere
Inspired by Mark S. Burrows poem “Nine Forms of Light”
Light between Leaves,
Shimmering with Breeze
Light within Bird Wings
And in the Song that She Sings
Light in the Rainbow Grass Dew
Light in the Sky’s Eternal Blue
Light on the Rooftop
Lights in the Car Lot
Light on the Surface of Stone
Light in the Ringing Telephone
Light is in this Place,
Eyes Closed,
The Sun upon my Face
In Praise of Laundry
The washing machine is a Womb
I could sleep to its sounds of churning
Vibrations of cycle changes
There are secret crevices
Where the fairy liquids go
And then
The waters flow-
A musical medley of clothes
Through a sea portal window
Out come the lavender scented parcels
They look like wet, wilted infants
Ready for the wear of life
I smell each one,
hold it close
And place it lovingly in the dryer
These Clothes,
Creations of daily identity
Will meet here again
St.Ones
At Midnight
The Moonlight
Spills through stone slits
Onto altar slabs
In illuminated dark,
I make out Heart
My fingers finding
the silk of stone
It used to be,
These entities could be a He or She –
This stone says She to me
Lips open to sky
She sings a soft stone song
How She,
A stone chosen, begins again
While doing nothing at all
The Big Dipper,
Found in this framed night filled with stars,
Reminds these roofless walls
Of the Possible, Possible
Promise
Of surrendering
To the Moon and Structures of God
