30 December 2014


It was waiting in the distance
A ridge at the edge of the horizon,
An olive grove I thought.
It took years for me to get there
Walking a little each evening
Mildly curious, expecting nothing,
My careless drifting across the landscape.

Later at home I found the gash
This was another one,  
Slicing its way over existing scar tissue.
I let my fingers touch it
It was exquisite, a secret wound.
I would nurture this one,
Drape it in all my intricate finery
Bandage it with black laces
Read to it from ancient story books.

"What beautiful olive trees," I said,
Staring from the periphery.
I spied flames somewhere at heart’s center:
A blaze was raging,
Radiating heat and a multi-hued riot
Burnishing the path and the stones beyond.

A scattering of newborn stars
The heavier coloring skyward
Caused the fire to appear striking,
Its veins hypnotizing in the twilight 

I wanted release from my confinement
Yearned to be a firewalker in the woods
A barefoot dancer upon burning coals

Out here the cold can scorch
But I hope for olive branches, 
That you would send me olive branches.