Rapture

The eagle sails the sea of sky,

unearthly in his element,

yet his eye scans

the movement of earth and sea.

He veers and plummets

(His parachute fails to open!)

yet he defeats the snatching beak of gravity

and rises with his prize, buoyant with triumph.

Linking with her motion

spring source in the heart of earth

and the embracing sea,

the brook carves always deeper

one timeless path,

cleavage between earth’s breasts.

Joyful in excess, fingers of freedom

run sensuous, exploring contours,

gravity a destiny.

Where the babbling stops,

the deepest pool eddies and stills.

She catches for a moment

in her dark eye

a vision of an eagle:

Sinbad among the clouds.

And does the eagle see

he also swims in the dark pool?

If I am water nestled in earth,

and if you rule the sky,

we touch as tangents only,

striking no spark,

unless the spark is wonder!

___________________________________

My life hums moderate, relaxed,

and your intensity is not about me.

I find the shocking courage, Goddess urged,

to leap to meet you in free-falling pain,

and joy resounds like prisons opening:

transfusing cell to cell, radiant fluid union.

This glide hangs timeless,

earth below experienced out of body.

This eagle soaring that we meet

is you, astral, primal,

eyes black holes of power.

Not a feather ruffles

as we mate for life.

We are made of feathers;

the wind blows through us.

Wafting, wending eagle-down,

we sweep clean toward grounding.

Awed lungs find breath’s divine caress.

At lazy last we touch the earth

and you are gone.

_________________________________________

I am clear water welling pure

from a deep spring.

You who ride

the desert like a wind,

who skim the surface of salty seas:

it is good to find oasis, port,

good to drink deep.

You have clouded my surface.

Patience; it clears.

I am not Siren, not Circe,

not mirage.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018