Joelle Francis



To feel not your body
but the heat radiating from your skin,
To hold not your form
but the golden cloud of your essence,
To feel not your breath
but the veiled words of the eternal voice,
I must give myself up entirely to light.

To know not your face
but the great shining face below your surface,
To breathe not your scent 
but the perfumed cloud of your knowing,
light must enter my body
as each star joined with the other,
and I must remember that we are as mist.

To hold again the deeper dream,
I must go to the inner lake of stillness
and wait until the reflections of you in my own face are washed away.
Come into greatness, dear one, Oh precious, star of this moment,
for nothing I see or touch or feel is who you are. 
You are the essence of all things:
the mirror of the sky, the sacredness of memory,
the lost impulse of purity.
Your body is silent as a flower at night
but inside you, I begin to hear fields of flowers, 
every star, the warm earth, and the great expanse of the sea
roaring in you, ringing like bells, 


Rain Princess

this ache is what I live for
this moment when hope and insanity collide
like glass beads, like miracles,
gouging fissures through my soul.

you with your sea-colored, dream-colored eyes
wait for me behind the budding tree
nine simple stars circle you.
I am dancing in the garden
through lifetimes of greenness 
I am pouring out magic
my heart is leafing out
my feathered hat hangs on a post
(and my skin sings with the memory of you)

the rain princess is circling me, singing.
the god is hiding in a box made of shells
I am weaving a basket of gold wood and nettles
fingering the lightness and dark.


The Forgotten One

I am the silk of wind in your hair
I breathe from deep inside of you
I am the memory on the shore of the lake
Shadowed, illicit, more pure 
than the trees.
I hammock the memory of your body,
in my innocence I did not know you had forgotten. 

I speak in star, in the silver light 
of bird song. 
The immensity of my words would surround you. 
My silence is the hush 
when you awaken before dawn
and feel a loss you do not understand. 

You search within yourself, gently, 
in the soft light. 
Perhaps you will touch this secret. Perhaps, 
half-dreaming, you will almost 
remember my name.

Somehow in the heart of the silence 
you understand: I will come. 
Across oceans, through worlds of others, 
I will reach out to you, 
I will inhabit your mystic body,
I will sing myself into your living dream.


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