Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Secret Book 13: Chock Full of Hawks

Fourth Psalm: Indescribably Delicious

Somewhere past the seaweed
where the ocean bends
into the mouth of a river,
I discover myself
staring at a dance
of hawks. The wind is great
and skies are minimal
with mid-November sun.

Two hawks are circulating
in their blood of time
with shadowy wings and vital
eyes and feathers made
from filaments of light.
I raise my arms and sense
a rousing draft beneath
my disbelief begin

to lift my spirit towards
some height of no return.
I breeze past all ironies
and deconstructions built
by random architects
of immaterial
material until
I reach a place I can’t describe.

~Son Rivers 2005

see the complete The Secret Book of Son Rivers to date

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