Image courtesy of The Public Domain Archive
The pair of hands meant to receive you
I summon you, a rectangle of slight stature
to be transported in the form of a brightly
enough. You lingered, loped, lost
Rise now, (un)slip yourself back through
fed you. Rise, mysterious as sunrise
the spell I carved in blue ink
that I could claim
upon whose breast pocket I carefully affixed the power
colored four-sided badge. What I gave was not
momentum, or never found it at all.
the narrow metal-lipped mouth into which my fingers
and as silent; cross water and cross land, deliver
upon all the naked space of yours
as mine.
Answer: a postcard.
To One Who Finds Herself Glowing in Darkened Woods
The distance between you and what
you illuminate does not matter.With pure and peaceful focus,
what you seek is foundand then you let it go.
The moment your light, muted silver,connects with any still or stirring surface
of water upon the earth,its tuning fork has met its single hammer stroke,
vibrating back to where your gazerests and receives its hum, then
you send out once morefor what cups your sound in its clasped hands
and offers it back again.
Answer: the moon.
