Darkness Gifts In//Eternal Light

These movements of the planetary bodies, swiftly tilting discs of light bring me gold kisses of thought as an initiation into holiness. What I felt before I fell into the world of my dreams:

"Every action is infinite. Upon the wings of this realization comes the raw, pulsing magic that is within the everyday."

My hands and tongue and mind,
were dipped in the divine.
In heated songs of butterflies,
bubbles of mine fell out her eyes.

Iridescent pools that touched the souls
of clay-cracked and muddied fools.
The flower in each of them grew
beyond and in them did it loom.

The fall of the hero into Grace
is the crumpled gardener that cries for the face.
Of that flower that rose from the darkness
to prick time and bow in the process.

In each flower is one tear shed,
like a bubble from the hermit's head.
And there the hermit, she does lay,
surrendered all but in her rain.

Surrendered all but in her reign,
cried at birth because she came,
again and again and again, as
the petaled pendulum of time
and space that ate away
 at many o' her face,
called to her like a forbidden race
of feet and blood and hands that stained
the glass of iris deified, forgotten and famed,
to prove the suspension of peace that is fought
of  piece that is wrought from a whole dug into and fraught
with infinitesimal detail of emotional currency
like the metal of her heart or the mettle hurried
a quick kiss of forged fate and strange blips
of awareness ancient and awareness a'new
of time cracked and time slipped
and space made and space skipped.

  

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m .A. r