Where Worlds Begin to Meet

Unseen dark angels, cowled, with hidden hands,

murmur along my twisting roads of mind

and down its deep waters

where vast midnight suns shine against a black sky,

where some dearest light plays each beloved creature

into an essence greater than itself.

But I pledged my oath to Isis, combing

the river banks for fragments of the dismembered god.

As I leave the little Nile, stepping up the Milky Way

through diamond-reeded stars,

still stranger angels of an arcane joy deride

me, huntress, avatar. They shake

the seeding bud of white-cotton willows,

scattering feathered lights onto the black waves of despair.

Their voices of tickling light make mockery of grief.

“Enough!” I hurl my Shadow, a night-velvet robe,

to cover the bright turning galaxies.

But then—thin, tenuous, inexorably gaining ground—

upon that habit the gathering Spiral Nebula

fingers new river mist of stars rising,

rising….

And echoing angel laughter across that vacancy and void

beats my two ears

to a committed ambivalence.