…here’s my hand, a ghazal for the year’s turn

by Elizabeth Cunningham

sometimes watch your thoughts: leaves floating by on a stream

other times, hunt your thoughts down, be a predator

the witness knows which thoughts pass, which to devour

in winter earth’s summer colors fly into sky

a fleet sunset blooming, light cultivating cloud

gold, purple, red—our color-hungry eyes are fed

young moon brighter and brighter in deepening dusk

the slim curve brimming with night, someone bear witness:

three small birds swoop down to drink the moon’s reflection 

a dust mote in god’s light, call it a galaxy,

a universe, call it me, how else would god see?

whirl on tiny one, small world, trust immensity  

silent as sunlight, in this timeless way I move

whose hands hold the strings that pull the tides, rock my bones?

my feet are wind in the grass, watch me disappear

beloved friends, the world ends again and again

with each death, each year, each turn of an ancient wheel

beginning takes fierce courage, wild faith, here’s my hand.

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jane louise December 21, 2012 - 5:07 am

holding your hand and your words close to my heart cousin <3

pulverschwein January 22, 2013 - 7:11 pm

I LOVE,Love,love the Maeve chronicles.
I have just shared them with my dear friend and neighbor goddess. In our conversations we keep speaking of pronounciations. Can you please give us some insight!
Celtic names and places have us all tongue tied! We know they are not "hooked on phonics" and I have looked online and found a few names…a guide would be so awesome! We want to say it right, wiht confidence!

Meg February 28, 2013 - 12:08 am

So beautiful. xo


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