After sunset, as azure deepens into cobalt, I lay
myself down on a wrought iron table, a weatheredappointment to my backyard. It is a quiet wild place
with a simple narrative. Urban born coyotes, at times,in the distance. Rabbits, always rabbits, ignored
by my dog. Once, an owl. And recently, doves. My gazeabove through undulating branches of ash catches
a clear spot, a free peek at the universe. The afternoonstorm carried away July’s rage that christened our day,
yielding a healing baptism of breath. Cool flows over mybare arms, down my legs, around my feet. I would prefer
to guide each button until undone, dropping my liveryinto a puddle around my ankles leaving me unembellished.
But modesty, even in shapeless darkness, is pressed herein the suburbs. A red hot star, the color of harlots, of
Magdalene misunderstood, a flashback to the burnof midday, catches my eye with a blink. What does the
color red have to say about a soul seven times released?Are there demons I walk with unaware, each one’s
diminution a step closer to the Sacred? Sanguine flowedfrom His veins mapping a path. In my bittersweet days
I gaze into a mirror and see the Divine, leaving demonsbehind. In my face and yours I caress Brilliance and in
the night sky I am remembered, exaulted in a crimson flash.
To Create... 