For the Lord’s is the kingdom,
it is he who will rule all the nations.
Him alone will they praise, those who sleep in the earth;
they will worship before him, who go down into the dust.
Psalm 22
The senses curl
on the soft sills
of dreams
when the bitter cold
settles like dark
birds
on the obsidian
tangles
of the trees
against a wash of gray
and the molten eye
of sleep:
see how each wing opens
the inky wave of sky
then closes
like the shadowed
lid
of God.
So much to love about this piece. I enjoy the relationship between these things: birds, wings, eye, lid, obsidian, dark, inky.... So interesting...The intervenening space amidst day and night, between awake and asleep. That inbetween-ness..... A transitional, liminal space. The vaporous tunnel of prayer...? Would love to hear your thoughts... Thanks for posting this! Love to you ~
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