Tongues of fire
Have been quenched
One by one like candles
An awe-inspiring
Unknown was rustling
And foam of an aloof
Light descended upon us.
Thus we have arrived
At this tilting point
Where the sky seems
To be its own border.
The bleeding anemone
Of morning arose
Through the flags
Of the fallen dust
Garlands of illumination
Kingdoms of solitude.
Underground, our parents
In oblivion sleeping.
Darkness of night woven
Between their bodies
Foggy and blurry nets
Like the roots of a jungle
Yielding forests of bushes
At heart of the mountains.
Heavenly wings glowing
Of doves hatching in nests
Of rainbows above.
And harps of winds
With fingers of light
Are waltzing on waves.
We might live now
Somebody else’s life
And that’s why our souls
Traveling like angels
From another star
Have never found here
A resting abode.

Homo Liturgicus, Amazon. com