|
Genies |
The first thing you must let go of are the gold urns, jade inkwells, carnelian canisters of
snuff where we are supposed to be.
Most beings are not discreet,
they really want to be found.
And the next thing you must know
is that we are the colors of the sky – cyan green thunder over the sea,
solar gold and lilac aurora,
celestial ethereal silver blue.
I suppose the other thing to learn
is that
when we come to earth it isn’t to hide
ourselves in objects so ancient their status as treasure or trash is ambiguous.
My last reserve was the torn body of a fawn.
Before that a one-winged butterfly tattered as an ancient flag.
I love for hands to descend upon me, tender and healing…
But those who find me are always so awestruck at the grace
with which I pull wealth or peace or flowers from the air,
so astounded by the things I know, math-like abstract wonder.
Loving is not an option to be considered.
People are too astounded for tenderness.
Do you know what I wish?
To be simple, clear.
I’d rather be comprehended than mythical.
copyright 2008
Shannon
Prince |
