Thursday, July 28, 2011


that dream of long ago
has proved prescient, and
now lies manifest, in a being
of sorts and sundries

for, into the eye of the storm,
into the ring of fire,
as into a vivarium,
my soul has wandered
from the places of desolation

voices, as song and wind,
make their vital way center,
make their offerings heard,
and depart on wings of flame

i gather their many threads,
some of silver, some of gold,
some bronze, all bold,
and weave them by stead
on the canny loom
of my ruminations,
where they bloom
by culminations
into soft embraces
of shimmering folds

likely no final destination, this,
in our soul’s journey,
and how i arrived here,
i know not, but how
surely purposed it was,
this centering:
to tune me now,
to test me,
to gather and
to weave me
to ravel and
to give me
as my thoughts
to God

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

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