Hold On


The stars are a reflection of our dreams in the dark
a thread of time, life to life, heart to heart, skin to skin
on the warmth of your love, hold on.
Say a prayer for those who a prey in the fray of lost
hopes and wilderness. The dark, the stretch of memory
forgotten in the sands, in the snows, in those stars
that are ever dimming in the microchip lie of this
“post-modern world,” this fabrication of nothingness,
this darkness from which a big bang awaits.
A rip, a tear in the thread, a tear in the eye, a closed eye
that wishes to be open.

Have you ever heard a frog song? Or watched the robins
build their nest? Have you seen the sun make love to
the mountain’s breast? It is this song, this warmth,
your love, hold on.

To kiss the morning dew of your breath, the cherished one.
Oh, the beloved light and heat in the sun, in the warmth,
in your love, hold on.

This winter cannot last forever. All things pass,
one into the other. Each leaf of grass, each drop of rain,
the dull ache of pain into pleasure, into rapture, into
silence. The quiet of those about to be born, that deep
inhalation of the lungs, feel it in the pulse, in the cells,
and the tender folds of the skin, life to life, passing
in and out and in again, like a wave of time, like sheaths
of corn husks melting in the wind, the butterflies hovering
above those golden strands, or the silver schools of minnow
turning as one on the currents of the tide. A fan of
sparkling color in the blue.

Sagebrush spring. A fox print. A leafling bud. The sun.
The circle of the sun, circle of the moon, circle of the
oak veins, and coffee swirls, circle of the dance,
the cadence of the rhythms, circle of the drum,
of the moon, of the sun, of the eye.

A rip, a tear in the thread, a tear in the eye, a closed eye
that wishes to be open.

It is not the end, there is never an end. The end
is a lie, love. Hold on. The stars are still above our
heads, the dreams still speak to us in the dark.
And we, will never die. Even when the flames
scorch our bones to ash and the weight of our
bodies lie like mulch in soil, we will never die.
There is no end to time, no end to us, no end
to the spiral song, love. Hold on.

~ Britta ~
05/04/10

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