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Behind Walls of Data

In the Last Green Hours

Crucible of Light

Dogs (A micropoem)

The Angels of Hawksbill Mountain

Beyond the Gates of Orion

Sanctuary Within

The Sacred Opulence of Abundant Joy

Sitting With Stars

Light of the Tempest

Nucleus

Follow the Birdsong

Celestial Rite

One More Moon Beside Me

Legacy of Ash

Born in a Field of Light

Resurrection in Albemarle County

Dialogue With Silence

Moving Past the Dream

Deadly and Merciful Blue

Sky Full of Legends

On the Border of Earth and Being

Who You Really Are

Council of Stars

Scattered As One

Unfinished Bridge To the Infinite

Scenes from Within

Moon of Secrets

Memories of the Kingdom

In the Church of Ordinary Miracles

Finding Religion in Sperryville

Theater of Shadow and Light

Sapphire Birth

Web of Infinity

Voices from a Choir of Stars

Traveler in the Unseen

Into the Silence

A Soft Ascent

Through a Sacred Forest

Innocent Questions

On the Bridge After a Storm

The Sound of Creation

Your Song in the Ivy

Universe Within

New Empire

Another Afterlife

Where the Wind Lives

Another Kind of Prayer

Indigo Fire

Last Inch of Flame

Blue Home

Sacred Crone

What the Deer Understands

Some Water Lilies I Used to Know

Gates of Orion

Requiem for Yesterday

In a Moment of Understanding

April Snow

Symphony in Sable

Justice Denied

Gossip

Graduation Day

Fire from a Distant Life

Frozen Retreat

Welcome Jack

Remembering Spring

A River's Chant

Shadows of December

Please Live

Unholy Love

A Silent Knowing

Morning Candle

A Multitude of One

Love is Now

Follow the Birdsong 2

Archibald

Night of the Broken Glass, Revisited

Someone Else's Paradise

Canvas of Gold (A Tribute to Poetry Sites)

On the Edge of a Dead World

A Very Late Apology

It Is You

When Two Hearts beat as One

THE WOLD LIKE THIS!

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

 

Nucleus



Once I make it to the summit
it all spins into focus and
I am here, I mean, really
here—

I vanish

into the center of things,
beyond the chiseled cliffs, the
plunging cheers of green, the
blue hills sprayed across
my runaway sky,

and no, I can't stop
the wolves of memory from
gnawing at the edges or
former versions of myself
from serving up tray after tray
of regret, but look,
life begins now and now and,
a million times, now.

Daybreak: another choir
singing in garnet,
piped in from higher places—
its fraying backdrop,
its obscene glory
changes me everywhere, and
I am no longer my past, no
longer those days, pressed and
blistered and unrepentant as
the brassy lake below.

Listen, you've glimpsed it too:
your power, a blur of awakening,
holy vacuum of stillness
finally speaking,

not unlike driving through
small towns, here
and then not here—
only the feeling of something
prim and blooming and maternal
remains on your way to
the next scale model heaven, and
for a moment you know where
you came from
and who you still are;
you know
we are dreamers
in the Creator's dream,

ourselves creators,
ourselves the dream.


Patricia Joan Jones






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