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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

 

The Angels of Hawksbill Mountain



In youth when
I was mortally in love and
writhing in dreams, I stood here
on this same cliff above this
valley of diminishing sky-waves
and softness, this
same absurd elegance spilling all
around the shaggy forest, and
I didn't weep. Imagine . . .

Nothing was supernatural about those
currents of blue or even the
blurry outline of hope over there.

I've outlived too many friends
and been reminded too many times
that the days outnumber us.

We never stood a chance.

Now who will convince me that love
is an immovable world of its own
while my wavering joy is trapped in
some clattering branches and
the eye of a squirrel?

I could plummet like Lucifer from Paradise
in that eye and talk about the twists
and turns of wood, about blackberries and
the taste of rivers, but
I'm five feet two inches of terror
and I don't speak fluent free spirit,

but still,
all the woodland creatures save me
when my blood runs with the savage
angels in their veins and
for a moment,
one encased heartbeat,
I roll around inside an outrageous
bliss that couldn't possibly
belong here
so far from Heaven.

Or is it so far?

I look closer
and I'm there.


Patricia Joan Jones





2000 - 2002 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors


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