This February, far from snow,
we speak of iguana, sea turtle, and mantra ray,
Poland and Kabul.

An orange and golden sunset fills the Tuesday sky,
planets at twilight shine, furthers
the space between galaxies, leaves us
fixed within ourselves together.

Down the darkening beach, a sea hawk
swings slow crescents from cliffs to waves
to palm groves;

A brown mare and colt walk,
nod their fresh nostrils down,
smell driftwood and broken bits of salty shells;

A Brahman cow wanders,
deep within her time-born leather.

The weather - within us – rises.


From snow we fled this winter, to repose;
dry crusted sunskins under hemp bound reed thatch;
youth's exude of eternal wine, content as cheese.

Hearts grown hard with lovely meeting
makes this evening classic in memory
like bronze and crystal,
though we drink from clay cups on tin tables.

She sits on wood bench,
her eye a scarlet outline unpainted,
reflects in our captured fire and rising moon,
reveals the guardian lady amongst us.

We touch along the sheer edge
of compassionate heat, we kiss,
the circle of our spirits link
as dancing figures tucked within essential natures.

From twelve nations fresh disciples,
twinkle in a mind of collective spirits
sending new rain that touches, far away,
the brown and yellow doorways
of where we all come from.

© Carlton Godbold 1987

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