Raven Tressed Monk
I found you in solitary confinement, my sweet sister I wonder at the wholeness of my life before you.
Were there bars on your windows? Was there a rusty padlock on the many doors of your passion? How did one who is so perfect a mate while away the time in preparation.
In your most inner self were you running freely with a family of multi-hued dogs through the highlands, the shimmering mist on the heather
In front of you a great pond reflects, you look deeply and are afforded a perfect mirror. The mountain with her shoulders draped in fog, maintains a cathedral-like silence. Meadow bells tinkle in the distance
You are a maiden again, picking wild iris for a picnic, a private celebration
Your dogs spy me; their loping legs close the distance between you and me.
They sniff and lick me, tasting my rough work clothes, They like the taste of sweat on my forearms, It is salty but not bitter as sweat steeped in fear
You have not seen me yet.
You are singing a spirited song about forever love And it is one sang freely without audience.
In your village you live alone, in a stone house built by your grandfather. Its foundation secure and anchored with hand-hewn timbers and huge stones.
You garden is lush with bloom. Every flower is tiny, delicate and ripe with fragrance. You tend no garish bloom, no overgrown splashes of riotous color.
No, my maiden, you cultivate millions of tiny specks of color. Legions of Johnny-jump-ups and diminutive orchids turn their little heads when you enter the garden posts. You are their sun
In the meadow the yipping of the pups draws your eyes to mine, a nd I am moved to rip the bars from the windows behind your breasts. I tear the locks from your secret doors.
You willingly come to me; your cloistered heart is tearing the veil. You float into my embrace as a mystical apparition and there is no more sacred place of safety. No newer birthing of an ancient love exists
You have flown to where freedom lives and you long to return to that place
I can see it in your eyes.
AN IRISHMAN FINDS A BEAUTIFUL MAIDEN SINGING IN THE WOODS WITH HER PACK OF RED DOGS PICKING BLOSSOMS FOR A SOLITARY PICNIC AND PONDERS HER PAST.