Path of Darkness II
Bleak Heart
I see
my feet bleed
as I look past them
into the sea
where no path is.
as no path
walked
I walked
out where the gull flies
see
a kind of little track
gone
now
eddying the wind
nameless
as I am
now
what had I done?
I walked so long with love
and knew it not
I sought to know
the name
already known.
In mindless heart
my questions multiplied
to learn
what was
already
shown.
Ishtar, they say, breached hell
to let love loose,
Innana and Iesu harrowed it
for love, and for love's sake,
the seven veils
seven strippings
seven immortal gates
were danced and passed
to bring back love
from death's demesne
but I, by love's leaving
give death breath
spin from my own wild
washed out siderness
horrors of numbness
to depict grief.
the tui
breaks its heart
beautifully
somewhere behind me
deep in bush,
i know that note
throbbing like memory,
record soft
backward glance
on all that gave me joy
before.
This
was the longest
journey
and the longest
night
worn from conception's point
where, even as I thought
I walked
a path well made and solid
only the feet
could gouge the step
and all it stepped upon
out in thin air
This
was womb darkness,
womb from womb
my mother's mother
who enwombed us all
cave within cave
of birthing, live chinese boxes
in a caul.
This
is an irony, this barren heart,
love longing for love trusted
and already found; love searched for
eagerly, though outward, straightly,
bound.
-o-
"She was", I hear them say,
"She was" - this, and that,
and thus and so -
'so strong'
as if she knew
from the beginning of the journey
its true end.
But who 'she' was
I do not know.
Speak of my daughter,
Soul of stars, of daylight's
gentle dawning. I've heard it done.
Another mentions seven; some recall
the nine, sing of the sweet Pleiades
spun from dusk
into the pivot of the world's pure womb
and dawning
so. It must have been
that even while I walked away
from him, I walked in utter trust
straight through the heartache,
with no bitter crust
and into agony. Love
lost itself in me
bore sign of light fertility
and I
by being one at last
and severed from the root
heavy with ripeness,
did, by myself, bear fruit.
I hear you
speak -yes
even you who've heard me
all these nights-
tell of this tale,
speak of this 'she'
who walks the long walk
modestly,
there at its end to make
nest in a cave,
and so prepare for guests.
The tale is told that Hine
spoke with Tane there
at their marriage knoll
and when reminded of her trust,
her children,
sent him back to care for them
until their long lives' end,
and did assure him that her care would be
the nurture of them in the long embrace
of death.
It may be so. But if it is
I don't remember thinking that
this
is the longest silence of them all
the pain of hurt.
I
look down at these split feet,
bleed from the sharp and unmade path
watch season's shadows fall
from long stone's rising;
see sunset rouse the circle
of the sacred world, the gate
open off the edge of cliff
open
and step out,
arch the void
and pause wind held
and over roil of water
bear down upon
past birth
out of raw present
feel the future
fist curl within
this living womb
and none of it has meaning
save within
and all this dusky loveliness
of fleshes form, all that is
soft moulded, round in gentleness
I fling,
out
over the soul black sea
whistle and pierce
this writhing
salt entangled
wind
soul rise
soar outward,
upward
while behind
somewhere in forest darkness
falls a tree,
heavy,
soft rustle
endlessly
