I Ching Poem

“The clouds pass and the rain does its work, and all individual beings flow into their forms.”  ~I Ching, the commentaries, The Creative

 

The seekers find their faces mirrored in a pond.

The vision is of stepping one rung at a time, stepping

quietly over the water, in and out, dancing that gently.

There were leaves scattered on the water,

wounding the sky.

The mute stare of a hero. That reflection.

Why had she wounded him?

He makes his cave of light

and the sound of him seizes some part of the flowers.

 

She had wanted to say,

"That dance is love, this dance is love,

the whole of the fruit, the bruised fruit Eve held

in her hand.

That same gift."

She wanted to say your wound is where light will go.

 

She takes a feather from the sky

And dusts his face,

The mountain shows through the cloud,

Dusts his tears with nothing that will touch him,

Watching,

The marble faces of two Greek ghosts,

Players.

Where cloth touches her skin,

His gaze averts to that motion in the water,

like a hope that always came last.