The Wings
Something hangs in back of me,
I can't see it, can't move it.
I know it's black,
a hump on my back.
It's heavy. You
can't see it.
What's in it? Don't tell me
you don't know. It's
what you told me about--
black
inimical power, cold
whirling out of it and
around me and
sweeping you flat.
But what if,
like a camel, it's
pure energy I store,
and carry humped and heavy?
Not black, not
that terror, stupidity
of cold rage; or black
only for being pent there?
What if released in air
it became a white
source of light, a fountain
of light? Could all that weight
be the power of flight?
Look inward: see me
with embryo wings, one
feathered in soot, the other
blazing ciliations of ember, pale
flare-pinions. Well--
could I go
on one wing,
the white one?
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Celebration of Love
Poems of Hope and Love
A Need for Love
World of Love
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