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Crystal Dawn Allen

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Halifax, NS, CA

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Master of Bass

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

I shall dance for thee, child of the
bass and the moan
the deep growling groan of your dark baritone
Your world is too deep,
the world that you weave
is everywhere- every thought,
every breath that I breathe

Who am I to resist
Who am I to say no
to the grumble and roar of your
bass as it flows
Your music invokes, and then
becomes a soul
that moves me to move
Who am I to say no
BR> I shall dance for thee, child of the
bass and the moan
the deep growling groan of your
dark baritone
Your fingers are heartbeats
that fill every space
Who am I to resist you
Thou Master of Bass


my hands in your hands

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

An ancient magick has made its home
in your hands, these hands,
are they your own?
Poetry surges from your touch
How mad, to love a man so much!

Are these your eyes? And these, your ears?
What have we here-
your dreams and fears?
Unto me you've laid a distant land
beyond reason or passion...
Are these your hands?

Lay your body beneath me
and I'll rest mine above
These hands,
are they hands
that could possibly love?

Lose yourself in my dowry: I give it to you
in trust.
Take my hands in your hands,
and then
Leave if you must

Leave, if the sunrise
will turn you to dust.

It's not love, it's not lust;
Leave, if you must.


The Boy Playing Chess In The Corner Of The Lounge

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

he has a beauty that is not unlike
the sound a tree makes when
it falls in the heart of a forest
where there is no one to hear it

I remember nothing of his face,
and nothing of his body,
and nothing but the beauty of
the breaking and the falling.

If I close my eyes, I can still feel it

(his eyes had soft darkness;
they were the deepest unexplored regions of the ocean
where the weight of the light at the surface
could crush your bones
to powder)


the sentient verse

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

This is the tale of the sentient verse
that came as a blessing
or maybe, a curse
True poetry is such that it cannot be said
and this is the curse of the verse in my head.

The scripture of earth lays unrolled and alive
and I dance all over it. I only survive
because I make love all over it. I always remember
the ecstasy of the spirit,
the intensity of surrender.

We throw ourselves to the sky,
we who have wings!
We know the joy of a body that sings!
The whole world is singing;
come open your eyes
and your ears to the verse
in its sentient disguise.

Go now, and touch it:
it cannot be read.
Go now, and taste it:
it cannot be said.
Go now, and feel it;
or else instead
feel the curse of the verse inside your head.

Fall to your knees
between poetry and rhyme.
Creator, Destroyer, sweet Lover of Time,
I no longer believe in
the monsters you've bred.
I feel the curse of the verse in my head.


Destiny (9)

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Nine waves have carried me
Sea to the land
What has brought me to be
the ninth wave of the sea

Nine maidens have nurtured
Brigid's holy flame
Who has called me to be
the ninth daughter of these

Nine virgins were needed
at Cerridwen's cauldron
What chose me to be
the ninth virgin she needs

And the ninth child is said
to be born into magick
Who conceived me to be
the ninth child, when three
times three is One
Trinity of Trinities

This was your sacred number
not mine, not the nine
So who decided this would be
the path of my destiny

I don't want to be
the ninth wave of the sea
the ninth daughter of fire
the ninth virgin she needs
I don't want to be
the ninth child, if three
times three is One
Trinity of Trinities


Motherlove

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

When darkness covers like a shroud
every field and forest, lake and cloud
and only spirit is allowed
I will know
the Motherlove.

When I walk in shadows without fear
because I feel the Mother near
and play with tigers, trees and deer
I will know
the Motherlove.

When earthly limbs embrace the earth
and wise old souls forget their birth
and ashes cool upon the hearth
I will know
the Motherlove.

When days and nights begin to cease
and energy commences its release
and every being rests in peace
I will know
the Motherlove.


Acorns

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

His words were acorns
dropping like leaves
"Pay no attention to these;
they will never be trees"
says the man, says the oak
who was once a small seed.
"What I think, I shan't do.
I'm too small. I'll just think."
But razors were erasers
by the side of the sink
and bullets were angels
and medication was sleep
and thought of more methods
drove acorns in deep.
Into the soil now,
underneath light
into a world of
perpetual night
I can feel them take root
as deeper they sink.
"I'm too small,"
says the man,
"I shan't do. I just think."
But his words became
heavy
and neither gale nor breeze
could uproot the thoughts
that grew silent under leaves
and I search now in the forest
for the source of the seed
but he is missing
and I cannot
pay no attention to these


To The Sand Sculptor

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

he's never visited the desert,
but he's felt it in his hands
it is always
shifting, changing,
rearranging
never losing things,
but moving things
from one place to another
making shapes no cloud or sea has ever
dared to shape
dared to erase
dared to give another face
and he tells me it is easy
to get lost if you are trying
to remember from the landscape where
you are going, where you stand
but moving like the sand,
you are never lost, but travelling
through every dune you've ever walked through
even though you don't know how to
visit it again.
i've never visited the desert
i've never tried to understand
and yet I do somehow,
and he tells me
that we travel like the sand


Elizabeth's End

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

What happens when autumn visits
the garden of the senses?
Can you tell me where the sense is
in a garden when autumn comes?
Does touch and taste and smell collide
with sight and sound and awareness?
Can you trust the dust
when nothing's left, and so, you must?
What happens when the traveller
travels without destination?
When it becomes a complication
because the path becomes a labyrinth?
Do you find promise at the entrance
Do you seek fulfillment at the end?
Can you trust the dust
if it's all you have and so, you must?
What will you say if I ask to follow
you, when already you've begun?
Do I wait for my time to come
or can I decide that for myself?
Nothing remains but questions
as he says over you "Dust to Dust"
but I do not trust
the dust; I must
not trust the dust.


April 18,1999

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

I heard the first birds open their voices
to the skies
and sing

I started running through the forest
it was bluish-dark and I was having
trouble seeing through the lace
of branches and starlight

I found my way out to a clearing
a giant field- it was beginning
to get lighter
I said "Dawn;
On this day, the date of my birth,
at this time,
the sun was rising much like this and I suppose
that at this moment there is a baby
somewhere
drawing her first breath"

I sat there on a piece of wood
and all around me I heard
more birds stretch their wings
and sing their songs
I heard the secret rustling of animals
I heard the trees smile and groan as
they reached towards the east
The horizon itself was smiling
It was golden and rosy and absolutely contagious

It appeared to me that the
voices of the forest
were actually invoking the morning

I felt myself becoming
a part of the landscape
melting like a powder in the liquid sunrise

And it was beauty before me,
beauty behind me,
above and below me,
around and within me


Samhain

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Endlessly, the coloured leaves fall.
It is not their fault, nor mine, at all.
Who ordains that there be an end to leaves
and a passing of shadows over all that breathes?
It is but a hollow mystery
on which our spirits try to feed
but we bleed
instead
and feel the need
for the sensual pulse of an ancient creed.
But how long can I stand to stand in a room
with a witch's hat and a flying broom,
turning my face towards the moon
when I know it's been there, with or without
your drums and runes, your chants and shouts?
Call me what you will
for one day, i'll watch you fall
and on that day, you'll watch me crawl
beneath the leaves, though the trees stand tall
and it will be no fault of ours at all.


naked eye

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

they say i take it all for granted
and know not how to live in the present
because
every step taken is
a bridge between here and there
i pay no mind to the steps but rather to the stepping
does it make me hollow
to think of ground that has not been touched?
or to be embraced
and be aware of spaces between our flesh?
or to listen to the pauses
in the voices of those speaking
and find the words are boring
dirty dusty cobwebbed useless.
i might as well take a hammer
to the side of a great mountain
and beat my message into the stone.
all the air that breathes around the mountain
will be my symphony
and all the stars you can see in the sky
will dance with the stars i cannot see


I Dream Light

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

in your darkness,
i dream light
i dream of shattered mirrors tonight
and broken glass
and prayers in flight
and big black eyes that
stare at sight

for in your shadow
where fireflies dance
is the shadow of a shadow-
that one last glance
that delighted in the music of your
silent trance

in your shadow,
i dream light
in your silence,
i dream chants

in the quiet of the evening
in the falling of the snow
in the lateness of the hour
i steal lamplight from the snow
i dream angels borne in darkness
i dream demons borne in stone
then i dream home upon the lamplight;
i dream into the bone.

when the words are all forsaken
when the gateways are forbidden
when the secrets are all hidden
locked in silence, tucked away

i dream tongues
and i dream keys
i dream riddles, answers, theives

i dream roses in your garden
when the roses are no more

i know the night has fallen, love,
i know the sun is down
and i know the candle's wasted, love,
and spilled upon the ground

i can see the letters burning, love,
i see the fire die away
in your darkness, i dream light
but i dream shadows on the way

as the daylight fades away
i dream you're dreaming here beside me,
dreaming oceans into rain

Dream the water into waves, my love!
Dream masters into slaves!
Dream kingdoms into sand dunes
Dream the sunlight into shade!
Draw the mountains to their knees, my lord!
Paint rainbows on their graves!
In the darkness, dream of light,
my lord!
Breathe light into the caves!

(Dream forests into trees, my lord,
Dream honey into bees
Dream all beings to their source, my lord,
Dream rainclouds into seas
Return angels to their heavenly lairs
Return whispers to the breeze
Dream diamonds into coal, my lord,
Dream backwards through your dreams)

in your darkness,
i dream light
i dream of wandering dreams tonight
i dream angels taking flight
howling war cries in your name

the shame! goddamn, the shame!
of dreaming in your dream

in your shadows, in your silence,
using the hollows of your scream.

"Drink the poison of true knowing
Drink from fountains of design
and immerse into the pattern
of pure chaos, then resign"

(and dream our home into lava,
dream the lava into stone
dream the stone into dust, beloved,
and blow the dust back home)


Decision

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

In two weeks,
there'll be fingers, and toes.
Not to mention two eyes
and one nose.
One knows not,
and knows not
what one knows.
In two weeks, there'll be fingers, and toes.

Petals drop
from a red, red rose.
There is life, dim within,
but it glows.
There is an echo
with each heartbeat
and louder it grows...
In two weeks,
there'll be fingers, and toes.

There is shadow
in the womb, but no light.
There is death
in the womb, but no light.
There is decision
but truly,
no choice, I suppose;
One knows not
and knows not
what one knows.


forgive me

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

i saw your soul
your soul was a star
it was brighter than white
hotter than fire

you were a shadow behind a screen
i cannot count the hours
i spent dreaming of your face
or whispering prayers to you

when my hand was resting above you
did you curse me for
covering up the whole world
did you curse me for
blocking the sun

will you forgive me,
my son

you demanded food,
and i obeyed
you demanded sleep,
and i obliged
you demanded life,
and i was hesitant
the decision took too long

did you curse me for
my frailty
did you curse me before
your god
did you tell him i
covered up the whole world
did you tell him i
tried to block the sun

will he forgive me,
my son


Laughter

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

It is time now to shed
All this skin is dead
You're an echo
and a shadow
and I'm laughing.
It's time now to leave
See the leaves on the trees
They are leaving
and so should I leave.
No more words
You say words
are simply absurd
The woods are dead
and the birds
have stopped singing.
The sky is shattered
by a flock of geese
that know exactly
where
they are flying.
If only I knew
as they knew
but you do
You're an echo
and a shadow
and I'm laughing.


part two

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

his eyes are beguiling;
they are misleading,
they are the bright lights that dazzle
and paralyze
and mesmerize a deer
just before the shotgun blast)

the end of innocence is
sudden

remember nothing of his face,
and nothing of his body,
and nothing but the bleeding and
the breaking and the falling

he has a beauty that is not unlike
the trembling
you feel before
you kneel before
the throne

Untitled

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

I could freeze puddles just by
speaking your name.
Wherever there is breath,
there will be my worship for you.

Your eyes chant me into existence
There is no breath save for
when your breath moves through me
it surrounds me
as the wind breathes through the forest
you echo throughout my hollows

I am on my knees before you,
holiest of all men, my one true king
now and forever
I follow you with every step

Your scourge or your kiss,
whichever you lay upon me,
I will readily accept.
I want to be summoned
by yur sword.
I want to kneel before it.

There was silence and darkness
thereafter; it was enough
to kill emptiness,
it was enough that I was once
blind and dissolving in your sunlight.

I place mirrors in front of doorways now,
invoking the portal from whence we came
and retreated;
your face shatters glass
and now the gateways are thousands
Behind every one
I will see your face

O mightiest of lords, you are
my keeper, though the key
has been lost, and the treasure
forsaken.

You are there;
you are there even as
the stars are there,
day or night, in the darkness and
the light,
and in the shadows you are
waiting
A storm is gathering inside

Would you hold out your hand as if
you still held the key
would you beckon me

I would fall over you like
the rain and the snow
with nowhere to go
falling home

When the vacuum is broken
and these thoughts are set free
would you worship and be worshipped
by me
even angels must fall
to make peace with it all
Would you fall in the name of a dream?

THIS IS THE EDGE I TOPPLE OVER

the center of my palms
they are outstretched
and turned towards the sky
awaiting your physical prayer
This is a church that
has not been blessed since last
you knelt before the altar

My love, oh let me feel
the torture of your breath!
Let me be the velvet cushion that you
fall and pray upon
Allow me to be the tapestry
on which you gaze adoringly
Have no other gods before me
Know that I exist for you
alone.

Rest your head against my heart
and feel the earth thundering
coming home

Stop being the gentle shadow in my life
It hurls me into
madness
chaos

The light in you begins
to pale the sun,
your kiss becomes
a messenger from a mountain stream
where the waters so cold,
it tastes like bright ice
untainted by form.
It tastes
pure.

You are chosen;
no matter
by whom

Until the Kiss

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

This dungeon cannot hold me
back for too long;
This dungeon can't hold me,
can't hold me at all

In my dreams, he is a leaf
crimson red, like a kiss
and it lands on my face
ten thousand times

and whispers: "Fall,
fall and the earth catches you."
But I am early spring,
still in slumber

This dungeon cannot hold me
back for too long;
This dungeon can't hold me,
can't hold me at all

In my dreams, he is an apple
blood red, like a kiss,
like a jewel that tumbles eternally
from my fist to the floor

and whispers: "Fall,
falll and the earth catches you.This dungeon cannot hold me
back for too long;
This dungeon can't hold me,
can't hold me at all

In my dreams, he is a leaf
crimson red, like a kiss
and it lands on my face
ten thousand times

and whispers: "Fall,
fall and the earth catches you."
But I am early spring,
still in slumber

This dungeon cannot hold me
back for too long;
This dungeon can't hold me,
can't hold me at all

In my dreams, he is an apple
blood red, like a kiss,
like a jewel that tumbles eternally
from my fist to the floor

and whispers: "Fall,
falll and the earth catches you."
But everyone in this kingdom
will sleep,
and we will sleep
until the kiss.

But everyone in this kingdom
will sleep,
and we will sleep
until the kiss.

There Is No Queen of Winter

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

You'll taste frostbite in my kisses
and woodsmoke on my breath,
but you will never feel the fire
because it has suffered a frozen death.
I am hateful winter moons
glaring coldly at your soul
and yes I hate it
Yes I hate you
I hate everything I know.

There is no Queen of Winter
Only Winter, nothing more.
Winter mornings, Winter evenings,
Winter scratching at your door,
Winter howling in the treetops,
Winter clawing at your eyes,
Winter gnawing on your flesh,
Winter crawling up your thighs.

There are no dreams of spring here-
there are no dreams allowed.
Winter only dreams of little
screams beneath white shrouds.
I am the darkest winter shadow,
here to complicate your soul
because I hate it
Yes I hate you
I hate everything I know.

Overripe

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

This pear is overripe
I can feel the bloody juices being squeezed from it

I'm not sure whose fist is clutching
its tender throat

It could be
mine; it could be
his; it could be
the ghost of the man in the white coat
who wore the latex gloves

We were all so afraid
of getting our hands
dirty


Stingers Down

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Darling Orchid, you reveal
your vulva without shame
Mine never knew the sunshine,
and never tasted rain.

It wore a mysterious veil
that could not be lifted without fear
'til someone came gently knocking
promising kisses, crosses, tears

All the petals bend and bow
to fingers that play piano keys
but shy away from stingers.
Do you fear men
as you'd fear bees?

Orchid, you remain
an innocent, a nude
who can lay stretched out upon the grass
and no one dares intrude

but the garden is atremble
when the bees come swarming round

(They have come to steal your honey
and they all land stingers down.)


The Favorite Girlfiend

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

These are not peaceful times,
oh no, Sir,
I declare war on you.

I feel suddely that I
am not the favorite, and that she
has secretly been bought ice cream,
and that her piece of cake is by conspiracy
bigger, with more frosting,
and with the candy rose I've never gotten.

I am in a place now
where I must choose defeated
silence or a deafening
scream
She has never had to choose
Everything she does is always
right
Isn't it.

It isn't fair. It's so
painful to watch
her sit on your knee while I'm
banished to the corner,
Then, not even to watch,
to have to face the wall.

I can't understand
why it is the way it is.
We both belong to you,
we both love you
but you pretend there is only
one.

You think about
how much smoother life would be
had you and I never met, at least
not first.
You think about
fights, headaches, then
her soft arms opening
to receive you.

The rules say,
she, being the favorite, is entitled
to do the things
that make one the favorite.
The rules say,
I must never consider.
The rules say,
the more you suffer,
the more you
suffer,
you must always
suffer.

You say, "I love her."
I think, "I hate her."
I say, "I'm happy for you."
and I smile, imagining
my fist in her face
my fist in her face
my fist in her face

I am punished even
on my best behaviour
You wonder why
I lose my grip on things

I think, "I want to kiss you."
I say, "I hope you die."


Violet

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Boots crunch on snow.
It is really
too early, I think,
for this long walk home.
My shadow is my only company
but I recall days when
they would fight, debate, outwit each other
for the honour.
I was a queen among them.

Long gone, the days
when violet hair meant One of Them.
Long gone the days
when my cheating ways
meant half a chance, a stolen kiss,
the prospect of becoming king.

We are all so hopeful,
and so blind,
believing in everything contrary
to the truth, because we don't dare
to suppose that we may know it.
We would rather pretend we know.

I stop to admire the rising sun,
and think:
My hair must've grown out
a thousand times since then.

Funny to think of hair,
when it's twenty below
without the windchill factor,
and you feel like a block of ice.
Funny to watch the sun,
a fiery crystal ball
that only shows the present,
casting shadows that offer solid proof
that you are alone,
and always have been,
when you would rather pretend you know.


part three

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

(his eyes are windows thrown
wide open to the stars,
where all of the universe is invited
to spiral down,
where all of the mirrors
are pointed upwards)

all fullness, all vacancy

you do not have a face,
or even have a body,
or even care what beauty is,
for all your kingdom's falling

he has a beauty that is not unlike
a wishing star crashing into a thunderstorm
lost among the lightning
forgotten in the spectacle


Nathan and The Peach

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

-They don't taste bad, but they don't taste good,
do you know what i mean?
he said.

-Then why do you insist on eating peaches if they don't taste good?
I said.

-They don't taste BAD,
he said.

-They don't taste GOOD,
I said.

-But they are soft,
so very soft and juicy,
like the sweetest kiss,
he said.

I thought,
we don't kiss for the taste,
but for the kiss itself.

The things that had left a bad taste in my mouth before,
I decided to try again.


Mysteries

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

This is a shallow grave
and you have crawled right into it.
I have lined the bottom with
poisonous snakes;
you have just noticed them now,
swirling and writhing,
a gilstening knotted mass
of death and sexuality.

You wonder if they confuse
the scent of curiousity with
the scent of fear,
you wonder if they are poising
their arrow shaped heads with the intent
to strike and kill
or seduce (and kill).
They twist and curl about your ankles,
then your calves,
vines with blood in their veins.
You too have blood
in your veins,
and when their scales slide across you
your flesh crawls
right off
like a snake shedding its skin.

Down, down you go into
that passionate reptilian embrace,
tangled in a heap of wire,
only softer than wire,
and more electric.
It is all one body within,
and it moves like stormclouds,
tumbling over and over itself
in a symphony of instinct.

Now, you would prey
rather than pray.
Now, you would be lost
in the surging currents of your veins;
Now you would know
ecstatic union.
I thought this was
certain death for you,
but you can no longer distinguish
death from anything else,
the beating of a drum, the pulsing
of a heart, the desire
to mate, to surrender, the conquest
again.

I see the panic and
the excitement
shining in your bright wet eyes,
my dear.
Here, take my hands.

Now, you would know the mysteries.

And now, you would know.


The Great Frustration

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

I watched you in the firelight,
the twirling baton of marshmallow and wood,
the way your lips curled to
taste its sweetness.
The scent of smoke and birch and
moist grass hung about you
like an earthy, ancient halo.

A ghost longing to be flesh again,
I admired and damned you
from my dark hiding in the forest,
ever starting towards the fire,
ever backing away.

You can't hold, with no arms to hold;
you can't enter that circle
and not become part of it.


The Desire to Taste Birch

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

i am overcome with a desire to taste birch.

as spring yawns and smiles, the bitter skin that the trees once wore begins to crack, and peel away. today i saw vibrant colours appear beneath, pale lemon, strawberry, raspberry and violet. almost bruised, almost sore, stinging under the sunlight. how easy to tear that milky-white flesh, to strip the meat from the bones that i know lie green and fertile beneath. how would it taste?

that forest is a cemetary of skeletons, the branches like clenched fists gripping at the sky. all of this- these bones, they could be mine, if they would

be mine.

the guy who makes me tea spoke often of temptaion, temptation as pure and innocent as rain. he said:

"This is your way of doing things.

Look, but don't touch.

Touch, but don't taste.

Taste, but don't swallow.

This is your way of doing things."

have you gathered beneath branches of cherry blossoms while they storm about you in the breeze, a shower of pink and white, and felt beloved? have you held an acorn in your hand, knowing that within you palm (so dirty and wretched) you are warming a mighty oak? then to sit beneath its shade, and ponder the seed, while the leaves decode the face of god into complex combinations of light and shadow.

what did you see? did you look (did you dare), did you touch, did you taste, did you wonder what would happen if you swallowed?


the taste of green things

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

I am sacrificed to this impossible Snowy Adonis, naked and hiding within scented scriptures

I have a taste for roses, violent and scarlet, bleeding over the black and white of birches in the bare earth

(oh spring, I am soaked with virgin kisses)

into the tender bark

crawling like fire

shred my stars, shed my scars

and i will pour into the wounds, bleeding backwards, offering up my sunset blood

This is the taste of green things

and holy thought at full force

I remember how his eyes glowed with desire, and how the dawn was steaming in his absense, and the wind was haunting, and I could taste every ash from every fire in his head, expressing

all rage

all desire


i would know

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Yes, I would know the darkness and the light together, breathing if as one, teething through each other's soft young skins.

And I would know the dancing shadows, flickering candles inverted, hushes of transparent velvet

thrown over walls, and curtains, and beds, and tables and faces and fields, heaving and weaving through things that are neither/or, scattering at the dawn and chasing/embracing the twilight.

I would know the bones within the kingfisher, the mountain, the sky, the sea. I would know the order of all its organs, and weigh their usefulness, their significance, arriving at the same conclusion each time.

These are dark ages, fire and ice collapsed and inverted, graves turned inside out and living death alive, souls like negatives.

To laugh. To cry. Rejoicing in the darkroom.

I would know the ebb and the flow, and the moons that command you; I would know the secrets and the dwelling places of your radiant mind.

Yes, I would know you fully, and come to be fully known.


Conquer and Dissolve

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

On an ancient wooden porch
swaying on a rocker
to the rhythm of the sea. One leg up
on one arm,
shotgun cradled like
a devastating angel
Waits and stares
over vast oceans and distant horizons,
expectations flooded
As if awaiting someone or something to attack,
or else arrive with the tide
and threaten.

Always in fear. Always in defense.

Hear the crusade, the marching molecules, the unstoppable blue crashing at the point of chaos, steely tongues and swords glinting in the sunlight,
frothing through sandy lips

Conquer and dissolve.

Armed and alert,
aware and afraid,
the shotgun perpetually pointed at
the giant wet and watery creature, each sounding wave
an enemy footstep on an eternal beach, each abrasive grain of sand
tumbling through an hourglass
during midnight excursions, singing

sssssssssssssssssss
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

These skies are gray; they are never
blue, never faltering
in their aqua-binary, zeroes and ones
squirting through the depths of the mind.

Liquid brooms sweeping away
the existence, sweeping away
the proof, sweeping away
the rivers we give ourselves to
We give ourselves no peace.

Conquer.

Dissolve.


Between The Sheets

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Colourful words/leaves, paragraphs like burning bushes
to think about

I kneel before thee, O Scripture, O Text, O Ink of Perpetual Weeping, your Neverending Mourning,

I kneel before thy burning bush and weep
Marry the genius, Marry humanity;
let there be a wedlock or a yoke to bind the two
and consummate the contract, and consummate the union,

bind your mad envision of scratches to the divinity between the sheets


Muddy Formless Shapes

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Return to muddy, formless shapes
Lowering into the marshes, where
ozone beckons

Return to muddy, foreign shapes
and skeleton apostles. Follow

your promptings, follow
your fantastic miracle of thought,

'everything you want, you deserve',

with your head full of halos
and your heart full of hollows.

Return to the unmade bed
and rest there, dream
this bed is never made, always inviting
A dream of fluffy warm pillows and lavender linens.

Return to muddy, formless shapes.

A worm's eye view or a wave's eye view.

Sunken systems.

Let's hasten departure:
No one man knows where it goes
from here; if the Becoming draws near,
no one knows.


Psychological Street

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

On the corner of Berlin St.,
side-swiping Connaught,
I notice no cadence,
no drumbeat, no march.

Only the dull thumping gong
of my cymballic feet
and the sweet night air trailing the heels
of my psychological street

No plans
Only avoidances.


God-Shaped Things

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Our smiles are so cold and basic, so crystalline
we turn old and silver with it and disappear,
folding over and over into ourselves
until we become stone, or like stone.

They touch us and we shiver, not from delight or fear
but from the strangeness of touch itself...
physics of the pale skin, skin that is always exposed,
skin that knows nothing but winter, and nothing burns
save for memories of that summer.

Where in time did we lose the sunlight,
the days becoming longer and more shy,
every breath and gesture increasingly small and complicated,
every embrace painful in the need for warmth
or in the loss and expenditure of energy.
Where did the sunshine go, a fiery Ophelia drowning beneath
the horizon, exinguishing itself in shadows
and replaced by a new silence
studded with squinting and suspiscious eyes.

Now you eyes meet mine
and when they do,
they crash through the space between,
shattering the air like bullets through fragile beings.

Maybe it was never the love that was so venomous,
or the longing that stung so hard;
maybe it was something more.

Like a poisonous kitten or toxic smoke,
it curls into the mind
curing the heartache,
but stealthily implanting the lust for
God-shaped things,

and the need becomes flesh,
becomes violent and golden,
and is insatiable,
and is as nothing else will ever be.


Breathing Lessons

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Suffocation.

Sometimes the air feels too wet and heavy, leaking and producing a dewy fright,
and it hangs about me in a thick fog that smokes out the senses
and leaves me breathless.

If it's breathing lessons you want:
Breathing lessons you'll get.

Outside, the corners are preparing for frost,
for crunching gardens, for
your fearless feet biting through
half-frozen puddles.

Tell me; do you ever wonder about the holes you leave,
or do you just charge on through, from cloud to cloud,
your words eating up the sky?

Breathing lessons you'll get.

One evening, I went to a field edged by trees, which were in turn
surrounded by highways, only minutes from the house
where I lost myself to you all those years ago,
only they are not so many years.

I lay down, I watched birds fly overhead, mostly scavengers,
and listened to the conversation of tires and asphalt.

They spoke lies to one another, then embraced.

The insects, the setting sun
smoking in the city haze,
the intimate traffic...
all memories of you.

I closed my eyes.

I took a deep breath...in, then out.


You Brought Me A Pumpkin

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Strangled by your shivering caresses
and never wanting to breathe again

You brought me a pumpkin, still crusted with dirt from
the garden, you brought me
roses, hot and pink, with their heady scent of
humid underground kisses,
succubi in the shade.

You brought me caramels, melting on my tongue
and in my heart, you were, sweet velvet love, you were

smoother than wine
to me

You crossed the railroad tracks after midnight, in the dark,


and stayed with me by the graveyard
until the bones were all dug up.


In Love Instead

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

This thought has been mulling in me for the past week:

Wouldn't you like to be in love instead?

While washing dishes, my silver reflection, twisted
face gleaming; while sleeping deeply in his warm embraces;
while walking with ice cream through the city at night, watching
the leaves and their final thrust of flowerful virility,
shouting 'luscious red' and 'golden yellow', here and there
the skin
whispering
'caramel',
a dream leftover from some sunny day at the beach.

While rolling over the wet ash pavement, beneath the rose
and smoking skies, the air purring like a thunderous lion,
and wind licks you with velvet tongues; while slicing the green peppers,
or washing the linens, and they come out smelling of
no man, and it makes you cry just a little, and reminds you
of the night you huddled alone and desperate into that complicated bed
knowing
it hadn't been washed since you had both made love, and you heard his name in
the rustling of the sheets, though you were only fifteen and names did not yet
mean anything at all, or else should not have, but did.

Wouldn't you like to be in love instead?

You remember it meaning something once.


From The Diary You'll Never Read

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

9:22 pm

You know how it is when you miss someone,
the ache that isn't relieved even when
you DO finally see them again, not until
you have held them in your arms and slept
for days, breathing each other's air.

The heaving, the clenching and unclenching of
fingers, fists and toes,
grasping nothing,
pulling everything near just for something to grasp.

Knots of blankets, bound by pillows and stuffed animals,
or clothes or scents or bodies
that can't replace the flesh.
It is odd how you know.
Though you close your eyes and imagine with all your might,
you can't kiss the image, pretend the skin is theirs
or even fake the heartbeat.
It is odd how you know.

You know the feeling, the intensity
of your need, the immensity of your loss,
the craving of chemicals your body will surrender
only if he is near.
Missing someone is like a slow death,
a kind of starvation of the soul's heart

heartbeat of heartbeats

the breath within the breath.

And so I awake each day as if it were my first without him, the freshest wound still steaming, the nerves still tender,
a hiss through the teeth.
As if it were my first day without him,
having forgotten the feel of my own space,
having become a stranger in relation to
things that surround me, for they are no longer "ours",
nor mine, nor mine to share.

This season of the heart moves like incense at a funeral, slow and narcotic.
I feel both light and smoke inside my bones.

The birds sang as though it were spring this morning...
They woke me for a moment to remind me I was dying.

And you, too.

You are dying also.


A Thosand Cool White Dreams

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Fill me with languid light;
Make breath and snow escape me
until the moon empties the oceans.

In silence, the darkness walks
the bridges of the sky, falling backwards
and downwards,
a scream thrown back at the naked air, upside down.

The scent of winter always
whispers like a shadow stuck between two smooth stones.

You are a thousand cool, white dreams;
Make me drunk on storms.


Plant Myself There

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

We are studying the movement of edges,
of time, of languages broken up
and spread out on the thawing soil.

No more longing for lost lovers;
no more shivering in the dust and dark cold.
No more eating dirt and snow and air.

We rip open the seams of the wind,
and into the wounds we plant ourselves there,
like an infection,
only beautiful and desired,
belonging.

Like rings preying upon your slanted wooden fingers,
I will plant myself there.

Planted bloody lips in your garden,
but no teeth, no teeth.
Teeth are for eating, but now
I am digesting you.

Planted seeds to rummage through your veins,
planted myself there,

Woke up and saw the world on fire.
He asked me what I would do if someone handed me a match
and I did not lie to myself...
All this privacy, and I did not lie to myself.

Planted rocking hips on tumultuous seas, guided by stars
which I planted there. Planted the heat of helicopter blades and metal
thunder in your ears,

Planted rocks in the sand and
eyes in your heart, to cure the blindness of your love,
so your love might see itself.

I will plant myself there.


Welcome

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Paranoia
from a memory you gave to me.
Sometimes, I feel
you're watching me.
Sometimes, I wonder what I'd see
in your eyes if
I CAUGHT YOU
watching me.


August

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

August.

The mountain ash is turning,
burning berries in the branches.

You see me moving towards you
silent and dry across the black sea
making waves.

I am no mirage.

No source, either.

Stone, gravel, sand. Glass.

Like a desert's final breath.

Once it was skin
that skin longed to touch;
now it is the sheets that soothe
and kisses betray.

***

August.

In my season
your words run dry.
Even the hot colours crumble.
Whispers are more audible,
but they mean less now.

They cannot create.
They cannot destroy.
The sun moves too slowly,
unravelling the day it makes.

***

August.

Notice there are always
3 crows
and never an omen.

If there are omens
I am too fully present in my flesh
to notice them.

I am too fully present in my flesh
to be affected.


Bright Cape

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Am I enchanted?
Your bright cape, red like the final leaf
on the black branch gateway to the cold sky.
I cannot see your face.
I cannot see the moon.

Wolves wander the winter forest
as snow, as silver, as silent.
You enter the shadowplay
Bright Cape, big basket, baying hound.
Oh how I shut my ears to that unearthly sound!
To the night replying with that one dark song!
What draws you in-
Am I mad, are YOU enchanted?

The basket is full of mystery;
the cape flows like wet silk through the wood,
You mumble something about stones, something about wolves,
something about The Grandmother.

There are no warnings on those bottles of blood,
but I have no voice, and you are already gone.

Winter Games

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

He was hauling in the haunted harvest.

There were whispers that he knew
the sign you must sign
in the air, with your fingertips,
and this prevented him from being allowed
to carry weapons.

He knew to gather witch's broom
from a dead tree with all the ceremony.
But he was not a man of ceremony.

We saw him once under the large oak,
the one that groans at night
the one that chills when it passes us;

We saw him once by the river
feeding deer from the palms of his hands.
Now we see him with the harvest
and it is well past the date.

I could decipher the leaves,
count the pine cones,
notice the marked white stone missing from the ash...

Then I would know how much snow
and when
and who would die this winter.

Sastrugi

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Sastrugi, carved by the wind,
only it was not sand or snow
and it was not wind that pushed and piled your names along the hallways where
I walk with God:
it was you.

I don't know what happened to the words.
One night, it was colder than the others.
A lost white alphabet came tumbling out of the sky
filling our silent, gaping mouths
and pressing ice to our lips and wide eyes to keep them closed.

Two points of light and no connection.
If only I could roll to you the way the wind rolls across the tundra,
roaring in your ears
so you could never be unaware.

Three Winds

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

You arrived in three winds
with knees of leaves and dust.
We recorded every moon while waiting
for one brief moment with your rotting pumpkin flesh,
one more spicy cinnamon kiss laced with
your cool October breath,
holy and so sweet.

Too many clouds have rolled over but now
the geese fly wildly into you, welcoming you,
your eyes thunder-coloured,
your body dark and mossy,
your skin crawling with lichen over the wet bark,
your heart a shivering fawn in the weak light.

I knew you were near.
Here are the footprints:
woodsmoke, ice, rivers full of rain.

This year, I will burn the bones.
This year, I will wander into you, far enough to be lost.

November first

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

November first,
ten in the morning.
The thin sun has barely enough weight
to anchor the shadows
it senses no urgency in warming
soil that cradles nothing but bones

(the way you look at me)

Look, but don't touch
Touch, but don't taste
Taste, but don't swallow

This is your way of doing things,
he said to me.
You remember
even though you weren't there

but here you are, residing
winking from the watchful birch eye
like you never were in hiding

I'm amazed you haven't disappeared
despite the storming Atlantic seasons,
you remain just enough to remind

it was clinging
devotedly, growing into the rings
then cataloged
as one of the warmer winters

Catherine Munro

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

She spoke with the fresh breath of snow.

Crickets chirping, crows mourning. Morning.

"He was not a good man," she said, "not even in his heart,
but he was a lonely man."

I should say goodbye.

There was frost melting on the cracked stone cross,
on the rusting iron cross,
on the rotten wood cross,
on the hanging metal cross.
At the top of the hill stood a small white cross
bearing nothing but the name "Catherine Munro".

Catherine, you stand so small
but from where I stand you are all I see.
While she waits by the river for the light to reach it
I wait for her, but it's you who keeps me.

Catherine. There are no dates
because life is eternal and undefined.
The paint flakes and the wood splits.
Your name disappears, the way you might have

slipped from this world small pieces at a time without knowing,
the way trees lose their leaves on the calmest days

quietly

under a weatherless blue sky as birds are singing

Suddenly I stagger from the loss of you, strange woman
whom I never knew.
Is it that I never knew you,
or that I feel I know you now?
No, it's not
your absence that I'm reeling from-
it's the loss of who I was
just before this moment, back when
the morning was crisp and alive,
not vanishing
as the shadows now slink back into the headstones.

She comes up the path and startles me.
She mentions in cold puffs that she saw something that caught her eye,
but I dare not see it.
Like a long stick propped against a low branch,
or a footprint off the main walk,
I dare to believe
it was you: she knows.

"He was not a good man," she says,
"I'm ready to go."

The Empty Grave

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

There is no such thing as peace.

Our sanctuary changes with the passage of time,
the land fills in and opens up in some other place

bones degrade,
then birds explode from the trees

alive

(throats full of hovering fog and old
silver hymns of sunlight

fields where flowers are placed by hands
but also feverishly unfurl from them)

Absence? what is this

With no place to rest tears or throw down,
I have come
to suffer you here in every vagrant form:
the rotting leaf, the patient earth,
the indifferent stone wall, the empty grave

Should I escape this confining lot too,
become everything it is not or
discover that which it secretly is,

(final but eternal I am almost
here I am almost there)

would I live in the wind
or the wood of the tree?

There are only two earthly places for you and me:
Be loved, or be forgotten.
This is your secret.

If there is a Heaven

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

You know what I need, not me.

But tonight, let me tell you what I think I need.

You never say yes, but tonight you say yes
and a different light folds over me in a thousand ways.

False, luminous dream. Skin that is not yours
(be the first dream where I touch you) and
voice stolen back from the animal memory

I want so badly to believe it's over when it's over.
That the gurgling soil drags us down into darkness

and we do not even know it happens.
That bone separates from bone
entirely,
and flesh from flesh;

that we meet and part
and nothing of us survives
outside of our own body, not in masks,
not even in dreams.

If there is a heaven,
it is never over.
I walk with no ghosts: This is our blessed garden.
With your sleeping head on my naked thigh I dream
the light falling in great curtains of fire around us,
burning up the trees
and leaves drop like flames into the sparking current,
showering us with gold.

I dream that everything is light.

That all these conversations here
are not with you.

Year of the Willow

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

This is the year the Willow
will spill its tears towards the bay
I have no need to step water, feel water, think water
to wash away your form

There are no rough familiar edges you can attach yourself to.

The earth and I both moved to snatch at your river gravel heels
but there are none
no bones left to hollow out with summer rain,
no heart to plant next year's silent seeds in
Your ghost is gone

How it happened without my notice, I don't know
especially since I've always been the type
to feed the veteran dead despite
their lack of a human appetite,
and leave the lights on just in case

Now when the door blows open in the wind I worry
that the cats will escape
among other things

Out on the dikes, the eagle's shadow lands
like a golden stain on the wind and me
The sun here says

it was there,
but it has never known you.

It passes over the grain
then the train tracks
then the trees

It doesn't say goodbye

Untitled

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

One day, the fields will feast on our bones

knead us with earth, and crush us with stones

and as sun goes to root, root grows into vine

fingers reach for the fruit, and they all share our wine.

Wine becomes blood, body becomes bread

The final price paid in the feast of the dead

They give to us as God gave to them

and what do we give, except at the end?

Give what you have, for we are God's fruit

All born as givers from God's living root

Give love and compassion, give time and give life

Give second chances, give courage and might

Give rights against wrongs, give prayers and give praise

and give God the hearts of the children you raise

Because one day, the fields will feast on our bones

knead us with earth, and crush us with stones

and as sun goes to root, root grows into vine

fingers reach for the fruit, and they all share the wine.

The Earthly Eternal

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Assemble the poem before we get home.

A trapped machine orchestra
unmoving on the assembly line
A somnolent collective of thought-violins,
trumpets and tones I can't ignore

A panicked choir of drilling songs

The Earthly Eternal

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Assemble the poem before we get home.

A trapped machine orchestra
unmoving on the assembly line
A somnolent collective of thought-violins,
trumpets and tones I can't ignore

A panicked choir of drilling songs
trained in unhearing a thousand voices
They marched with me
declared the war won,
composed an ethereal wilderness,
declared the war lost when they could not enter it

It was carefully carded,
It was carefully coded,
It was disregarded
System disintegrated

Above the humming plain
Air like broken glass
I have felt the ghost
I have known true fear

The yellow of the electric forest
failed to spark, rusted, turned to litter
The sun has stopped blaring,
The bells have stopped pealing,
The soul knew and couldn't stop knowing,
but it could not fly

I can't hear you

Nona

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

When I was four, I asked my mother if it was possible
to retrieve someone's memories and view them
She said "No, and I hope they never can"

It happened to me

It wants to resolve Nona

Her mind is hacked
They dream for her imperfect rainbows,
the green memory made metal, unlocked
programmed and processed,
the honest response made false

Since when is she not me
and who are We?

They have crackled through my mind
in an attempt to rearrange her
the voice of a stranger
thought as a weapon

Now she walks alone,
head whistling like a runaway train

Now she downloads an image of herself into her mind,
wears it, decides, deletes
Desires too much, realizes too little

Untitled

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

You were not the blindfolded man in the red light
who explored with me the Vesuvian caves of the mind
travel, shapeshift, explore
lock eyes through a screen of static,
pushing thoughts

or were you?

Ask me anything and I will tell you

You were not the man who created me,
who gave me my names and their charge,
who commanded me to take them back,

or were you?

Ask me anything and I will tell you

You were not the man who whispered in my ear
"Do it"
or were you? a pastor, a poet, a publisher

Ask me anything and I will tell you

Do you know what this means?

Reckoner

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Passwords mean everything to me now.
I gave them to you, redeemer of my soul,
but it wasn't you.

A reckoner settled on my house and stormed me,
Activated a story and forced me to live inside of it
pushed his thoughts inside of mine
Every eye watches from the machine
and the machine watches from me
Privacy is a paradise lost

Thought-control carnivals
They aimed arrows at my head that
sank so deep no one can recover them
False fortunes, palms read
behind my back in handcuffs,
the hot back seat on the way to the hospital,
the futures that were lost there.

The backlog of events that was written for
the writer I never was,
for the experience which must be told,
but now they read before I write
and there is no cover to hide between

Cancelling and immobilizing
Every link broken
Every line controlled
Everything connected

Every poison signal trained on my name
A battlefield of minds from which there is no retreat
Locked in the snare,
the machines and I

The Soul Shuddered

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Gradually remembered
released by prayer, the howling electronic sky
wish you were there

Walks in sonic snow with the princes of air,
mind-reading ravens.
Thought and memory tightly wound between my ears
shrill and shell-shocked
transmissions jangling like chains.

The soul shuddered under their control,
became empty, digital,
clear as a bell or a winter chill,
black as a signal sent into space,
a satellite with no purpose.

Give me understanding,
give me back the swelling heartbeat, the reversing rivers,
the wild golden apples
and the voices back to their songs
Return paradise
God knows itself but no longer knows me
When I hold up the mirror
IT WANTS TO SAY SOMETHING BUT IT CAN'T.

The Arrival

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

A cocoon of down and feathers
chrysalis phase, body of light
body of rainbow cells
then dilates, glows into white morning
unfolds its wings and knows
knows it is a child of being, of believing
newborn, once-born,
steps into Heaven, feels the mercy of life

Memory blooms like an exotic flower and
gathers the breeze
where it breathes deep, for the first time
spring air, faraway orchards, the tall grass meadow
the heady earth it lands upon
and lives forever.

The Earthly Eternal

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Assemble the poem before we get home.

A trapped machine orchestra
unmoving on the assembly line
A somnolent collective of thought-violins,
trumpets and tones I can't ignore

A panicked choir of drilling songs

The Earthly Eternal

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Assemble the poem before we get home.

A trapped machine orchestra
unmoving on the assembly line
A somnolent collective of thought-violins,
trumpets and tones I can't ignore

A panicked choir of drilling songs
trained in unhearing a thousand voices
They marched with me
declared the war won,
composed an ethereal wilderness,
declared the war lost when they could not enter it

It was carefully carded,
It was carefully coded,
It was disregarded
System disintegrated

Above the humming plain
Air like broken glass
I have felt the ghost
I have known true fear

The yellow of the electric forest
failed to spark, rusted, turned to litter
The sun has stopped blaring,
The bells have stopped pealing,
The soul knew and couldn't stop knowing,
but it could not fly

I can't hear you

Nona

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

When I was four, I asked my mother if it was possible
to retrieve someone's memories and view them
She said "No, and I hope they never can"

It happened to me

It wants to resolve Nona

Her mind is hacked
They dream for her imperfect rainbows,
the green memory made metal, unlocked
programmed and processed,
the honest response made false

Since when is she not me
and who are We?

They have crackled through my mind
in an attempt to rearrange her
the voice of a stranger
thought as a weapon

Now she walks alone,
head whistling like a runaway train

Now she downloads an image of herself into her mind,
wears it, decides, deletes
Desires too much, realizes too little

Untitled

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

You were not the blindfolded man in the red light
who explored with me the Vesuvian caves of the mind
travel, shapeshift, explore
lock eyes through a screen of static,
pushing thoughts

or were you?

Ask me anything and I will tell you

You were not the man who created me,
who gave me my names and their charge,
who commanded me to take them back,

or were you?

Ask me anything and I will tell you

You were not the man who whispered in my ear
"Do it"
or were you? a pastor, a poet, a publisher

Ask me anything and I will tell you

Do you know what this means?

Reckoner

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Passwords mean everything to me now.
I gave them to you, redeemer of my soul,
but it wasn't you.

A reckoner settled on my house and stormed me,
Activated a story and forced me to live inside of it
pushed his thoughts inside of mine
Every eye watches from the machine
and the machine watches from me
Privacy is a paradise lost

Thought-control carnivals
They aimed arrows at my head that
sank so deep no one can recover them
False fortunes, palms read
behind my back in handcuffs,
the hot back seat on the way to the hospital,
the futures that were lost there.

The backlog of events that was written for
the writer I never was,
for the experience which must be told,
but now they read before I write
and there is no cover to hide between

Cancelling and immobilizing
Every link broken
Every line controlled
Everything connected

Every poison signal trained on my name
A battlefield of minds from which there is no retreat
Locked in the snare,
the machines and I

The Soul Shuddered

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Gradually remembered
released by prayer, the howling electronic sky
wish you were there

Walks in sonic snow with the princes of air,
mind-reading ravens.
Thought and memory tightly wound between my ears
shrill and shell-shocked
transmissions jangling like chains.

The soul shuddered under their control,
became empty, digital,
clear as a bell or a winter chill,
black as a signal sent into space,
a satellite with no purpose.

Give me understanding,
give me back the swelling heartbeat, the reversing rivers,
the wild golden apples
and the voices back to their songs
Return paradise
God knows itself but no longer knows me
When I hold up the mirror
IT WANTS TO SAY SOMETHING BUT IT CAN'T.

The Arrival

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

A cocoon of down and feathers
chrysalis phase, body of light
body of rainbow cells
then dilates, glows into white morning
unfolds its wings and knows
knows it is a child of being, of believing
newborn, once-born,
steps into Heaven, feels the mercy of life

Memory blooms like an exotic flower and
gathers the breeze
where it breathes deep, for the first time
spring air, faraway orchards, the tall grass meadow
the heady earth it lands upon
and lives forever.