Kundalini Splendor

Witness


I do not even know if it matters whether the gods under the sea

are blue or if the triune God is one or three. Only this:

here in this wilderness I sense a presence in the soft green

haze of trees, the air heavy with the scent of jasmine--

although it is yet too early in spring for blooming.


The long shadow of the moon bleeds into light.

And in this new day there will be nothing here that was not here

yesterday, only the spring a little riper and perhaps

a thrush in a tamarack tree calling

for a mate that will not hear or come.

Fallen seeds carried in the bellies of birds to a fallow

or fertile ground, and fireflies drifting on currents of wind

their small lights invisible in the glare of sun.

Caterpillars woven in sack-like layers of leaves.


But after this long night of wondering I move into a silence

that becomes sound. From inside my body the awful whirling

of wings, the chattering of beaks, and I am opened,

at last, yield myself to the light, and birds

nestled so long in my head take flight.


copyright, Jeannine Keenan