The Spiral Destiny

Look at the light beams
pouring down from the sun:–
slicing through morning fog
and mist like a million surgeons’

carefully sharpened knives
in a medieval cathedral of medicine,
where patients wait patiently,
supine on the mossy floor of love

in the nave of, in the name of,
the greater synagogue of creation.
Just look at the dew-strewn leaves
and petals gleaming through mist:–

up-turned lips waiting to be touched
by Dawn’s rosy-fingered first
caress not unlike those aforementioned
metaphorical patients floored

by the glory of their great mother’s
lovely smile after two days
of her tears, gray rain
nourishing the roots of their being, crying

down on her children her lachrymose blessing,
her forgiveness for
those who hurt her daily
with chemical needles and warlike drones

that daily rain down their own brutal
tears on her innocent body
and the bodies of children
who one day may just stop, who already

seem to have stopped evolving
toward some greater understanding.
Look at the river valley still hugged
in fluff, puffed up with cloudy stuff

masking the flow of her borderless destiny,
her spiral world without
beginning or ending, her always
striving movement toward the sea.