If you ever lose heart and the earth seems as distant as stars fading into the noise of your busy mind, know this. That a tiny island exists in the blue hands of the ocean. That a tree grows upright into the salted clouds. That two eagles love each other enough to spend their lives greeting the morning sun together. That two eaglets stand in their nest, gazing at the heavens. Looking down to the forever ground. They eat and sleep and flap their wings. And one day in July, one by one, they will jump into the air. They will know the difference between existing and what is beyond. They will hold onto nothing. The hurricane will come, courage catching their pinions on fire, as they mount the wind, climbing ladders into realms of the invisible.

--T.L. Stokes

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

see-through fingertips

She has eyes on the tips of her fingers.
Long light streams like angel hair pasta,
invisible and glowing
snake outward to the closest entity.

Hooking up,
a low sound enters the air.
No one can hear it.
The ears go mute.
Everyone's hair
begins to float upward.
You can taste
static electricity,
it is something else.

A field of poppies
moves into the distance.
No one here dies.
The dead wake up
and pay attention.

The living
are transformed.

She turns her eyes
from her fingers
like flashlights.
Into your body she goes.

It is how
you find your name.

We are all light,
all of us,

--some can see it,
and some cannot.


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