When the lights dim above the dinner table,
a flickering warmth, and the white butterfly claps
its wings against my streaked window pane,
willful heft of air — what news do you bring?
Have you tapered into luster, lute of open
sky? Was the crossing safe? Midwifed?
Tranquil? A pinprick snatch of time?
I am standing at the ivory gate, wondering,
wandering
the trackless night, this cryptic
grief-scraped dream.
Everything lives on, a world
around my treble mouth, collapsing
on its tears.
You lived in peace and will go in peace.
That was what you said. But what of us pilgrims,
pinned to all this lovely peril, span
of tangled lives?
I want to praise your boundlessness,
its migratory gold. Because when the body
is broken, death is a starlit strut, a thornless
crown that lifts the spirit home.
Is that where you are, sending postcards
on such fragile wings, a sudden
sway of light? And perhaps even the bluebird
that hopped across my path. Every one
signed, love
is the
only
news.
(for Una Francis,
1955-2018)
The Traveling Light 
how can i even pen a word for this beautiful, song of words, flowing seamlessly from line to line – and into my ears and heart.
once again, all i can do is bow and say, thank you!
my love, anita
LikeLiked by 1 person
Namaste, sweet friend. Namaste. And, I love you.
LikeLike
Oh Naila, again your gorgeous words and beautiful Heart see clear down to my Soul. Bless your Sacred Circle, pilgrims all. 🙏🏽💗🙏🏽🌸
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, pilgrims all. And so grateful we have each other.
LikeLike
My dear most talented sister, this poem defies the word beauty. Such a delicate and loving gift to your aunt. What a smile she must have, alongside your dad, reading these words. 💜
LikeLiked by 1 person
I hope so, my dear sister. I do feel that she is free and in that freedom love is all there. Thank you so very much for always receiving my poetry with so much spaciousness in your beautiful heart.
LikeLike