White Paper
When the sun comes in, out of the cold,
mind drifts in momentary dreams of peace …
Begins, the anointing; morning
chants, steps closer to the Café. I enter
the world of words zero visibility
train signals pass by - a circle of mist
My slender arms; palms slide toward earth…
Small sun bracelets; finger cymbals - click,
(sound within sound within sound), sound
gives way to silence and disconnected
memory - a nation of flag-draped coffins,
numerous things undone; certain prayers
God answers; unconventional geography
strolls shameless through ground shores,
circles the borders of half-lit rooms, our
perfumed world tendrils around prayer;
(Heavens anoint remote villages - and this
blue air in late autumn) In matching hues;
sky-blue, worry-free, our foreign affairs
are meaningful to each little one born
My dream is an earthy thread; New sun
streaking across the white paper of freedom.
Deborah Russell, © 2006
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