Wednesday, January 23, 2008
The Fingerprint of a Pharaoh
The Fingerprint of a Pharaoh
True, we are dust,
but dust piled
on dust.
The fingerprint of a pharaoh
wing of a fly,
spark from falling comet,
a bit of camel dung.
Some say that everything
is holy,
each particle a remnant
of the unseen divine.
Fragments of the god,
the all seeing sculptress
of all that is,
begetter of earth and all its elements,
perceived and sensed.
For a fleeting moment
we inhabit form.
And then I think,
what rises
escapes once more
into another place
where shape
no longer matters,
where everything is singed
with beauty,
seared by delight,
a sudden breath,
and we again become
the flame.
Dorothy Walters
January 22, 2008
