A POEM FROM SALLY'S WORDS
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I'm almost home now,
almost at the end of this weary road,
almost within small, welcome fences,
almost circled by curling vines and flowers
where I may lay down safely in someone's arms
who knows my wounded, torn ways
and loves me, placing their hands tenderly
on me to sooth... until I allow the simple luxury
of slipping into old rhythms.
I'm listening to birds singing ancient songs:
homing songs, songs of wild flight.
I'm listening to the lullabies
of my own breathing,
and the whispered syllables of wind —
the wordless longing of silent love within.
For a moment, I'm a child again,
crying myself to sleep;
until someone wraps me warm in light
streaming through their gentle eyes
and I cautiously let fingers play with mine,
and touch my hair,
seizing my soul in a suspense of silence,
breathless and unknowing —
until words begin.
Your words are light:
like small fireflies in dark woods
where frightening creatures move.
Like feathers of light
they drift carelessly and somber
amidst the fearful shift of shadows.
Now I'm nesting down in two worlds,
still afraid,
yet running towards small lights,
small miracles in the dark,
your words amongst them...


Image: Vassily Kandinsky
Poem © Blake Steele 1996