NaPoWriMo - day nine

psalm three

somehow, the complaints multiply. voices

raised in three-part harmony. they declare

i am alone. there is no strength in me.

it is difficult not to listen.

i might sit here for a while, quietly.

where is my shield? where is my sword? where

is my helmet? what strategies must i devise?

i shall make an enemy of silence.

i shall raise my voice, my song

shall ring across the valley,

make its way up the mountain path

until it knocks at your door.

these are only the first notes.

you must be patient. as i will be.

i hear your soft steps as you walk in

the garden. you call my name.

your voice sustains me,

and there is no fear.

a wall of faces is only a wall.

a wall has no teeth.

i will rise with you. i will rise

to you body, soul, spirit.

so let there be music.

let there be a celebration.

let there be dancing.

If There Were Two Rivers by Jan Zwicky - NPM9

If there were two rivers.

If their water were clear gold.

If it were a flood, a homecoming, and where they joined, 

          a standing wave, its crest of white.

If you climbed the hill alone, returning,

          and the grass was golden in the evening light.

If the golden water leaked around your feet

          out of the earth.

If it was everywhere you stepped--gold, streaming,

          and the clear light going down.

If, in the other dream, the children ran away. 

If it were a ship, and the evening light at sea.

If it were a church, and the orange light of evening.

If there were no roof or walls.

If it was made of fire.

If it were radiant.

If it were massive, weightless, and a white fire

          misting from its centre like a breath.

If the rock was raw but glistening.

If it lit the foyer--if the light were all below and

          the other rooms were dusk.

If what happened was: you stood there.

If there was nothing to be said.

If it glowed.

If the glow was like a silent speech.

If the light was like a haze, a mist: if every detail

          were exact.

If it broke you open.

If your blood shone on the hearth.

If the silence deafened you.

If what you saw was the necessity.

If the hammer of it brought you to your knees.

If the hammer of it clove your heart.

If what lay below was light.

If what you could not find was there.

If its hard fire was a golden river.

If the golden river was a forge.

If the forge was rock, and if the rock was shining.

If the forge was love.

 

Zwicky, Jan "Absence" Forge. Kentville: Gaspereau Press, 2011. 39-40.