The dewy grass is the flesh of a woman
Wet primordial virginal sensuous
She rides me close
Against black satin with stars
For love of life the seed fly forth to certain death
A gambit for glory, a chance for earth and dew and green
Suspended in the void
From this paroxysm of joy
A sudden return reborn to walk on rock again
In endless search of clever ways to push this dirt around
And yet in the wet glimmer
Of a tender green blade is a recollection of worlds
And worlds beyond worlds
The spirit of Elijah is a relentless fire.
It consumes my bundle of preconceptions.
They blaze and sputter
And are cast to the wind,
As a truth more true
Insinuates itself upon my being,
Colors my every action.
Its pulsing innuendoes rise up from my bowels.
Blazing, they entrain my beating heart.
This fountainous flame
Quenches my prominent thirst,
As the mordant bells
Ring out with dread and promise,
Tolling, no longer distant.
This burning chapel and ancient courthouse
Speak reams of larger men long dead.
The timbre of their march
Puts me back in step.
A covenant is
Fulfilled once again, vibrantly
This dewy spring morning.