Aile

This is silver, in a shadow,
         a silent pause in silent nights,
    a moment lost
                  and remembered vast,
far away.
         A moment feathered and fair.

    Begemmed and yet begrimed,
                        paradoxic, impertinent I
have fallen fast
                and far,
         unrepentant, unmoved, unstirred:
                       how far to this moment?

It is a thing of feathers,
              of hope unkindled, leaping
        with joy,
                  bespangled with stars.
A moment silver and silent,
      waiting in the night,
            calling to impertinent I.

This is silver, in a shadow,
           calls me close and draws me in:
      A moment lost,
                 remembered now,
at last.
    How is it I
              had not heard before?

Lifted and uplifted,
             stirred by the soul,
    I cannot fly, I cling;
                 I fear to fall.
I am no feathered thing,
      no being of hope, I.

               And yet wings
like an eagle have I, borne
      on the breath of the dawn I
                      am befeathered by light,
enfolded in glory and I
         am in the hands
of my Lord.
25-11-02