A Skein of Geese
By Ruth Calder Murphy (Arciemme)
The morning is azure and Einstein-brilliant
and arches intentional,
crucible to Autumn’s alchemy.
Trees display their myriad shades,
out in force,
glorious as Excelsis, every hue crying “Hallelujah!”
against the blue.
The ground is gold and brown and rustling secrets
to my shoes,
leaves falling on the graves and whispering the collaboration of compost
to those who lie below, beneath Rest in Peace,
with synergetic worms...
A raven is perched on the centre tomb,
guarding the way to the womb of eternity where all the
family gestate and wait for resurrection.
Over the wall, the corn is cut and fields settle to sleep.
The raven speaks, once, twice and once again
and the bell in the old church tower sounds the hour.
I walk in the bubble of the sound,
across the leaf-loved ground and out to where,
beyond the field, the forest calls me
and promises to share its alchemy
when I step to its susurrating shade.
A skein of geese glints across heaven towards the horizon,
taking my gaze with them and carrying me away…
My heart in the trees and my soul away on the bright breeze,
flying to paradise with a skein of geese.