Who Watches This Entrance When The Moon Is Dark?
My fingertips trail smooth darkness through
air tunneled
along a cave corridor
Because I have known a shear edge
I fear the sacred end not the fire teeth of peace
at the bottom of this room
stones below, River below
guarded by dogs sleeping
on bones of ancestors who long ago were too new to speak
of dangers
too without language to give warning.
Only now, barely breathing between walls
as heavy and silent as these mountains
do I wonder about the veracity of a memory:
twin albatrosses
long white black wings moving space
like strings of arm beats turning
round a temple goddess
smiling at me her face not moving.
If I have come to this room over and over to die and be
reborn
why then now as I approach the deep heart of the matter
do I tremble tearfully at the thought
of the little breeze that will blow my hair
and the thin silver crescent I will see tonight?
Who Watches This Entrance When The Moon Is Dark?
Copyright 1994 Beridha Beridha.
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