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

Saturday, April 30, 2011

The Younger

Photography by Doug Carrick, and WildEarth

The Younger

The days and nights of innocence
are black rivers bending away,
moving like air
and the unnamed mystery.
We drop into the space
of there being no time.
Mother's head drops down,
thin shells close over
her eyes.

Alexandra, the older,
sings like a tea kettle,
begging bits of small torn fish
from Mother.

I, in the white ceiling'd place,
chip away with dagger,
a doorway through my
impossible sky.

Oh weary going, I faint from effort.
Sleep drags me away
into feathery seas.

I would leave my dreary work
yet my belly cries. I hear
a strange familiar song
and it leads me.

And in the still night
heavy on my circular shell
I hear puffs of mother's breathing
and clap of father's

I hear them call and sing
and it brings visions of
what flying will finally
feel like.

You don't know me yet.
I don't know myself.
I am still the riddle,
the small second,

the courageous,
the enigma.

for Egg #2
in the process

c2011 T.L.Stokes (all rights reserved)

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