I watch the striated fire
of the Deity’s poetry
rush to fill the cosmos —
matter to energy, energy to matter.
I am for you, born an eye-blink
after the carnation-burst of creation
begun by Yahweh’s mighty shout.
Perched on His shoulder,
awash in coalescing rainbow gases.
My prism-dusted wings spread.
I launch from the Center,
rider on a ribbon of light
pushing a bow-wave of crystal.
Stretching through space-time.
I swoop along the curves,
wings mere metaphors. My hands
fold the crinkled fabric of time,
open past, present and future.
I am for you,
whose spirits have triumphed,
in spite of humiliation and pain.
Wounded Knee, Armenia, Auschwitz,
marked by your ashes and bones.
Gathered in my apron —
your souls — sheaves of roses
to delight the senses of God.
©Copyright August 11, 2011 by Dennis Maulsby