Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Rite of passage

The long hollow bone
of a swan carved into
a modest flute, its call
the wraithlike echo thin
as the wrists of the girl, hair
a dark stream tumbling,
rippled as a child’s
faith in the narrow
true line of the horizon

Torn, shifting hills
into valleys, the old
into the young
as the long hollow call
of the flute drives the swans
thundering skyward
smooth wings beating,
the wraithlike echo thin

Rachel Westfall
January 15, 2014

5 comments:

Rob-bear said...

The imagery is powerful, exciting.

Blessings and Bear hugs!

Rachel Westfall said...

Thank you, Bear!

christopher said...

Love Song 513

I've carved my song out
of the white long hollow swan
bone flute you gave me
to play in the deep
grace of our moon glow filled nights.

I sit near your trust.
Moon lets me see how
the whole shine of your presence
flows down the long years -
yes, dear, the long years.
Then I get all tangled up
in them as I must,
like the warm blankets
we wrap loose around the world
get all that way too.

‎January ‎17, ‎2014 6:14 AM

Crafty Green Poet said...

lovely, I like how all the images flow into one another

Rachel Westfall said...

Thank you, my friends!

Christopher, I read your lovely poems when they pop into my inbox. Then half the time I forget to comment on them! I am ashamed.