the undulating dark

quiet morning
like cherry blossom dropping
when the wind is absent
i arose, remembering.

there was an angel in my dreams
before i woke
all was golden light
gold on gold
even standing in the cold
bold

a summer field stretched
wooden fences
with gaps
to keep hapless sad in
the soft wind
disturbing air on skin
everything cast over in gold

he tried to remind me
of where I had been and where I was going
such an angel.

But not quite the same as God.
although beautiful answers
that made perfect sense
alignment, structure, form
all represented with precision.

I could not agree

Something inside of me
Murky, raw, sleek
the dark places where things grow
the room you board up
the part you hide
laughing it away at cocktail parties
and weddings, at church, and funerals
although at funerals we let it out a little....
but not at the supermarket
the part we spend our lives avoiding
tumultuous, turning, yearning, unseen,
tumbling down like a castle in the hands of time and vines.
until we die
and are reclaimed by the vices of microscopic life

This part of me was not in his vision
he refused it's consideration in his calculations
this way assured I knew
if the world failed
it would be my fault
for harboring darkness
for not cutting that part out and offering it's writhing to the cleansing rays
of the sun god

i told him he should seek peace
instead of change
insight instead of gold
trouble, loneliness, desperation,
such beautiful flaws are the landscapes that invite sunset horizons
sitting beneath a vast sky in a life of flawed achievement ripe with meaning
and bursting with poetry to ease the soul
mythos and mangoes,
ideals well-met with dripping ripe sweetness
instead of museums of well-sorted gems
stacked upon each other
untouchable and frozen
the world can never be perfect i screamed into the golden polish
for then it would surely die
without the undulating dark rolling out
creation.