Friday, April 29, 2011
The Visitant (poem by Dorothy)
The Visitant
For what is an angel,
after all?
Is it oneself,
cast into its
larger dimensions,
swelling with joy
and attentiveness?
Or is it truly
presence from
some other nameless realm,
region of
that place where
Mystery dwells?
And if it should come before us,
massive, bright,
how might we greet it,
bear its gaze,
its knowingness
of who we are,
each particle of secret longing,
each hidden scar?
Dorothy Walters
April 27, 2011
(image from internet)
