Friday, November 12, 2010

The Leaving

The upper world ablaze
Quiet trees in slow-simmered murmur
Hissing death in brilliant splendour
Remembering the Crucifixion

Green grown dark, blood-red,
With royal golden crown
The pruned and manifested light
Glorious surrender from a green-steeped life

And falling with
Height-drunken and subdued ballet
They sink into the brothy history
My own rich and layered seasoning

Becoming muffled testimony
Of that most-stretched reach,
The branching death and Life-thawed birth
That beckons all

Whispered staccato of rain falling
And changing of old guards
From firefly evenings of loose-tied cloths
To a weaving of the grayer cocoon

Where we will draw close
With communion once again
By fireside and thick warmth
Humming our anticipation of emerging buds

In high strung breezes
In crawling golden afternoons
Of woodsmoke and God's own confetti 
We find the oldest song of love

Jillian Rose

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