Kundalini Splendor

Here is another poem from Jeannine Keenan. Jeannine is my oldest "kundalini buddy." We met once years ago, and have kept in contact, mainly through telephone and e-mail, ever since. Jeannine is a gifted artist and poet, one who deserves to be more widely known. She is immensely creative. When a fire took out a few acres of forest near her house, she smahed glass into small pieces to hang as necklaces on the charred remains until the land recovered and new growth appeared.

Wings

I woke from that deep shelter of night
into a wood of my own stillness
near a chasm where I had slept
unknowing. My body's dawning.
Rain in my eyes, I stretch to loose
old scars. Let them be.
Root-foot deep in earth.
At last enough water.

I wake in a spiral nest of vines.
A forest of dendrites dazzles light.
My white bird feeds on empty air, eyes
a dance with fire. A sudden wind shifts
through the translucent canopy of green
wind shadows on fallen leaves.
A white swell of feathers lifts the air.
At last the wisdom and terror of wings.

copyright, Jeannine Keenan