Flood Light                                                       

 

When imaginal light   FLOODS    the mind receptive,

 

becomes a Bosporus deep and broad enough

for a tiny wooden rowboat tattered                wandering  

 

a freighter huge, slowly steaming eastwards

smoking creeping like an insomniac’s tortured

evening

 

and a robust swimmer blue-skinned pounding

her warrior’s arms ACHING CURVING through

cold clear waters swirling      AND, and

 

only AND,          when our humble breathing body staggers

sprints with its myriad moles, scars and scabs, rippled

muscles, weary afternoons and its sex                 MARRIES

this light’s MIRACULOUS infusion                        what occurs

 

takes our babbled breath away,

 

EARTHQUAKES us to another kind of earth

3,000 feet beneath this mundane ground,

straddles us like a lightning bolt from a manic lover

 

ELECTRIFIED     BOISTEROUS

 

all the way from Europe’s insane wars to

Asia’s perfumed slavery days, from

the cloistered monks of Benedict to

 

the masters of the GOLDEN WAY and far,

so far, beyond. 

 

ahh, when imaginal light       FLOODS

the mind receptive