Friday, January 10, 2014

Sogni d'oro

From the Troubadour
To the Dawn

I looked and saw a window
I looked and saw a chair
I looked and saw a stairwell
and you were there.

I saw what I was meant to be
large as the western sea
high as its battlements
soft as the fallow field
       in the farmer's mind
       (is soft)

my roots were cedar roots,
they will not move.

I felt the warmth around my ears,
glowing down my neck like sunlight,
spreading over my shoulders like hands
from one behind.

As one grows up to a great sorrow
and sees all of childhood colored
to that one loss,

so I saw my life
was called to this sweet song.
Called from the time I pulled weeds
on the northern slope,
from the time I lay my head
on my father's knee.

From the Troubadour
To the Dawn

I turned, and saw our flock
like Jacob's flock,
Jacob's flocks and herds,
Jacob's sons and daughters,
blessed from the bottom of the belly,
sent out over mountains,
named and blessed.

And could I live like this?
If God is calling you to dance,
do you resist?

When Psyche saw Him in the light,
                        was she surprised?
From the Troubadour
To the Dawn

Each swinging door,
each figure carved by hand!
I understand.

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