The clinking of champagne glasses
is a note that rings and hangs in the air
thick with humid smoke and hasty promises;
it's a note that sssoundsss sssweet
like the hisses of the beautiful snakes at my feet.
My guardian angels make war in the lower
heavens around my head, fighting for me...
fighting the future and fighting my fate,
struggling to bear my burdens--
to shoulder the weight of my grief and rage.
And i know they are shouting, screaming
at the demons who crowd close to my heart;
close but still being kept out...and they have
to settle for slipping through cracks in shut doors
stabbing into the heart of dreaming.
And as still as i am i still cannot hear them.
Whispers from the Spirits move like wishes
through the leaves: prayers translated
from one language to another...
mediation for a new job or for the health of a mother.
prayer-- as invisible and as strong as thunder,
struggles outward, upward, heavenward.
The last five days have been
like five years:
thick with faith fighting fears
(that threaten to sieze my heart...
trying to rip it apart)
and as thin as the wind.
prayer-- as strong as steel,
and soft as a summer breeze...
8.27.2008
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