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






Friday, May 18, 2012

The Pearl




Oyster ocean washes a pearl out
into our giant hands.

The moon quivers.

She, it is a she, crackles and yawns.

Her skin is loose, like a puppy.

Her eyes are little dark moons.

Her mother, most beautiful vessel,
glistens and glows. Tired. A queen.

Her father bends down
to kiss her mother's lips.

His face is a porch light.

I came in from the field with roots for toes,
and try to stand as a maple would,

branches soft and curving as the wind,
oh, soft May lisp of a breeze,
moves me,

while I remember how to cradle.

The pearl with her eager and sucking mouth
won't let go of my finger.

My heart runs races.

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