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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Descent of Light Everything that passes through the body descends and rises again, unseen, like a river born from stone, lost at last into the sea, water comes down from sky to hills, from hills into the deep, and along its way it carves the bank — a wound shaped like water; I am the shore worn slowly by my own light, all that I was returns to mist, gathered again toward the sky. We are what was placed in our palms, what was taken from our sleep, blessed be the hand that gives and the hand that takes away, for everything that comes is a gift, its meaning hidden in flight, carried out of sight, to renew the place where we stand, always a threshold left open in the flesh of flowing time, and in every beginning there's a seed of nameless light. If our cruelty tears apart the riverbed and the beautiful field, then I must grieve, must learn that through loss I possess the earth I walk on, stand in, am made from; the dark and the light will hold me like a possession, I've been reborn from pain, to love the freshly split shore where young cottonwoods take root, golden, in the wound. The kingfisher builds his nest in a hole in the broken bank, the green grows slowly under a song of embers, the world's end, and what is there to do but imagine everything that still exists, so it may light the mind's thought and the light of day, raised like a beacon burning over the waters of forgetting, the dark turns back to light in his blue wing. He falls from the crumbling bank, gathering the air beneath his wings; in love's labor the body forgets its own weight, and becomes song — and once more, with love in mind, I return to what must come to me, carried as by an endless song, the way a dancer is carried by a song without end. This grace is gravity, this longing is my weight, everything that falls returns to light, and calls us toward the earth.
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