The Oracle gave me this poem. Then I read about the rioting in front of the White House.
Beneath a death chant is the light
a rock worn smooth by storm
shining black beauty in a dream
of sweet scented petals.
In sleep I want you with an ache
as deep as forest shadows
fiery as the music of the sun
running red with the sweat of who and what we are.
Bare words are bitter
blood is in the rose that lies beneath the skin and
you you you are
the water rushing in urgent torrents.
I am am am
the blue of the mother ship
sailing through the rain before the wind
that blows away all sorrow.
Listen to the foam whisper of the waves
watch for me in the soaring gulls
I am coming
rising with the tide.