DARK SKIES
 

How close they are to paradise.  In the grass at the end of the parking lot

               a handful of magi rowing a boat through a neglected passage of longitude dressed like nobodies.  Fallen from an elevated oasis.  Without turbans
of gold or embroidered coats.  Only faded linen replicas of leopard skins

The libations are poured for thee that thou mayest refresh thy heart therewith

Behind them the eastern night.  The guard dogs at the burial grounds
barking into the empty tombs where the stars of summer were interred
in rows of glass coffins.  Stars from the pale blue wings of a swan
stars to move the rocks and trees with songs.  The dolphin's stars

Here is unguent.  Open thy mouth and taste the scent of the holy habitations

In the fresco over the cities the last of the suppers sits on the table
an infirmity of pigments crouches in the plaster.  Where once there was
a banquet.  Bowls of dust flooded with light.  A tarnished candelabra
arrangements of dry roses.  Scraps uneaten.  The goblets overturned

The nipples of Horus have been given to thee and the milk pours into thy mouth

                            Time between times.  Oars break the surface.  A flashing neon sign
                           announces the second coming.  When all the birds resume migrations
                           when all the waters are crossed.  When all but the pillars of the west
                           have crumbled.  When the dead gaze again from constellated fields The eye of Horus has been given to thee that thou mayest illumine the night

Away from the interstate the glow of strip malls and headlights dims
in the near distance a ladder drops through dark skies.  Dead limbs
stir in their wrappings.  On the deck the magi pace back and forth
mumbling prayers to speed the sails and bring the journey to an end

The night has made an offering unto thee and the west is at peace with thee

In a theatre of high desert mesas stars from the pale blue wings
of a swan.  Stars to move the rocks and trees with songs.  The dolphin's
stars take hold of the rungs and climb back to the ceremonies of the moon
back to the dome of the ceiling.  Back to the blood rush of eternity

Mayest thy heart not cease to be.  Mayest thy mouth be open.  Mayest thy eyes be open
Mayest thee lift thy lips and live.  Mayest thy voice never depart from thee
Mayest a path open among the shining ones and may thee be placed among them

©2002 Janet Hamill