Incarnation

 

 

As time caressed the desert dust, spread as living dreams,
so did the camel pass through needle's waiting eye,
and in that crushed, deep driving force delivered;
so was the myth made manifest through endless sky.

Those archetypes did drift in resinous waiting sleep,
as clouds like trees did hold,  and lifted desperate branch,
so angels roused from idleness were gathered round;
hope flounced dress in shivers, fragile as mere chance.

Tight the Goddess wove her truth into material, managed form,
where words held close to number, brought reality to birth,
and Fate does know who then to kiss and hold in settled place;
across the ditch which keeps pure heaven from this earth.

Souls did sit in patience, sipping slow their  all-forgetting tea,
that cup of brew which would remove all knowledge of the cost,
the cloth of memory wiped clean, brushed that dark, forgotten door;
thought falls  quietly into the hole of deep unknowing, and is lost.

As Snow White opened wide thin, reddened lips to surely bite,
upon the apple Eve had thrown delighted, into the cosmic ring,
so did the future stir and hopes of incarnation begin again to foam;
Self held hands with Spirit, smiled at Soul,  as dawn began to sing.