of a Courier
The high-relief of something in the mind
almost forgotten, remembered not by name
but rising, shedding water from bright flanks:
follow the trails of water to their source,
enter the source, and speak. Let your eyes
protrude from tree-trunks, your hands
appear over intersections, in the air.
Your companion is a thought that keeps pace
with you, dodging among the mirrors of the air,
surfacing in eyes, in eyes, ringing
voice after voice like a set of untried chimes.
Your credentials are the constellation and the leaf,
the tokens under the tongues of the unborn,
and you are shod in thankfulness of the earth.
Copyright © 1981 by Esther
This poem first appeared in Seven