Ender of worlds, you who are
The moon-winged light
Glimpsed through silver clouds that recall only
The music
Of the rain
That hums
On the dry branches of the scrub oak,
You who are the soul
Of the juniper trees and the wind-waving sage,
Re-awaken now your lands of magic,
And so,
Unmask the deeper, greener forest
Of long ago,
Abode of the forgotten fairy folk.
Young Ganesha watches from among the red-encircled blossoms
To hear anew
The clear
Ringing chimes
Sound, that the dust of a crumbled age
Is gone,
Swept away and cast
Asunder
On the gusts of the great
Gale,
That peace may settle ever after
On the blue-
Belled petals
That gather in an opalescent bowl,
A glimmering, crystal grail,
Far
Beyond where the ragged hulls of iron ships
Were set adrift on a tired sea.
Soon the haloed star
May bless the night,
And the coyote
Sing her laughing song again
In the darkness, beside the shimmering gate
Of a time beyond times
When
At last
The long-toed crane
Dips his beak
Into the cold waters of the creek.
Then,
Mahadeva, Shining One, Dispeller of fear,
May the swans, who know, and have always known, all things, sail
Ever near
Before the bright, sky-clad boat of the dawn,
Climbs
On through the echoing waters of a many lilied mist.
© Copyright Sharon St Joan, 2024