Dream Travel in The East
Monica Newell 2003

I fall awake with senses of you.
Our stork- legged shadows
move, shifting, making pathways through the other dancers.
We hold a perfect light in the creases
of our hands,
woven together in prayer,
letting honey-colored beams fly forever
from the spaces
between
our fingers.

You smile at me when you refuse,
our magnetic temples, housing glowing amber eyes,
hover there like paper lanterns, objectively.
Above the swaying shoulders of saffron
and deep brown robes that reach
to tag our guided feet, we nod.
Fevered underneath your candor, you resist me.
Our steps overlap, reminding me that
we are one.

We bend like sea grasses
in birth light
giving up our hips,
your patient lips,
and the youth with which you still love me,
we surrender to the earth rhythm
of the fire.

Even in a new land
the incense of the Mother, creative,
breathes drumbeats to treetops that are
endeared to us.
Sweet air, ceremonial smoke and your answers are on my tongue
as I wait for you to come back with me
to my room.

You smile at me when you refuse
as gold bells tell the land and the sea
about our meeting.
My heart is still there
because it is drenched with heaven's intention
or memories,
or dunked in your morning tea.
Sipping thoughtfully your decision,
my prayer settles
warmly in your belly.
Light in motion,
set us free!