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  Wings of Light
99740 Poems Read
Through a Sacred Forest
Don't speak.
Too many miracles are
happening:
wild mint, sassafras,
blackberries
and rumors of a bear—
just another glossy evening
to hunt the thought
that got away
and follow it somewhere,
anywhere,
it doesn't matter.
Its life is its own.
They say the bear came
down from the
mountains, and yes,
I intend to see it. I've
ceded too much
territory to fear
and now it's time
to love everything—
to be the sky, the bear,
the stars,
the All,
amazed by itself,
returning to the beginning,
entering the silence,
inviting others
into the grand surprise
before life's gateway closes
like the iron lid over
the dogwoods
where Venus burns through
with a new idea,
and like any good fight
this day will not die
gracefully. It will
thrash in a pink storm
and dive and sing
on its way
to another life,
as we should,
and this time
I choose freedom.
This time I will not
turn back.
This time I will be
fully drenched
in the beauty, the wonder,
the terror . . .
My heart in lockstep
with the tin march
of cicadas,
I walk deeper,
and deeper still,
into the forest
that knows my name.
Patricia Joan Jones
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©2000 - 2002 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.
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