born in the gleam of God’s adoring eye . . .

 

 

‘lo, through a Crack in The Sky

( a Rush, of Wings )

.

.

.

the Albatross,  whose name has always been Steadfast,  holds within his unwavering eyes the first pristine spark of a SunRise,  now bringing the long-awaited promise of the return of The Light of Day down across the fields and the forests of the Land of Because, down through the corridors of the human heart,  where once was whispered the Music of Angels,  and down ever still into the depths of Oblivion,  whose memory now tries to forget,  all of the darkness we will soon cease to remember . . .

and gazing westward,  which will one day be called EveryWhere,  the Albatross slowly turns to regard the Urth,  now hanging by a thread,  so fine and silver,  and woven from the Tears of Heaven itself,  and he smiles,  because he knows that his long and lonely journey through the endless Kiss of Night is over,  and that all he had ever been asked to do has been done . . . and he lays his sweet sorrows down along the Rail of Sighs,  in the very same place,  where once there laid a handful of nine-inch nails,  whose traces still scorch the time-worn face of Regret,  that are now and for Ever etched into the redwood timbers of the now complete spoke of The Great Wheel, that Always had built as one, of The Seven Bridges of Why . . .

and as The Dawn of The Ages lifts higher above the horizon,  and flows as liquid down upon the realms of Certainty,  the Albatross finds himself standing within the quickening presence of a moment that even Eternity has long been waiting for . . . and from out of the blue,  the Sister of The Sun of Man walks toward him,  and with a nod from Patience, and a smile from So It Shall Be,  She walks on past, and into the embrace of all that Yesterday could ever have hoped for,  and all that Tomorrow could never have known . . .

and walking with a determined pace,  with the might of Titans defining the strength of Her divine purpose,  She steps out at last into Her Universe,  so long denied Her,  and so long and lost in the throes of blind and belligerent desire,  and She lifts Her welcoming arms up with the Grace of Swans, and to the galaxies swirling in Her Eyes,  She speaks . . .

.

ease My Reign

.

for Her name, is Mercy,  and She has come, to seize, The Day . . .

.

*       *       *

.

and deep in the star-fields of the Dominion of Always,  in a place well within the reach of Her infinite regard,  and so perfectly balanced inside the sound of Her voice, a pale-blue gem in a sapphire sky slowly turns to face Paradise,  where an Ibis,  born Resolute,  gazes out across the Shores of a place once called Camelot,  out across a new whirled now bathed in flows of Compassion,  where fireflies dance amidst the laughter of Her Children of The Clouds,  and where roses now grow without the burden of thorns, and where a butterfly now rests upon the back of an Iron Horse,  who finds himself standing still, and staring in wonder at a trail of footsteps left where the sand meets the foam, and revealing the presence of The Prince of Peace,  walking once more and in the distance, and there at the edge,  of The Sea,  of Love,  Again . . .

 

.

.

.

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those halcyon Days . . .

June 8th, 1997

 

and, while I, was Away

( He, was Home )

 

He played the last eight games with all the passion his heart was capable of, finishing the season with a .560 batting average, 8 home runs ( two in a game, twice ), and 42 r.b.i.s . . .

the infield saw his practiced grace keep the hits from ever seeing the outfield grass, and more than a few of his assists turned into double-plays, making second base a foolish place to hit a ball . . .

the St. Lucie National Little League, St. Louis Cardinals, won the League Championship (21/7), advancing to the StrongTeam Finals, and lost in the 3rd Round with a 4-2 standing . . . by all accounts, it was a good season, and a lot of young boys became young men right before our eyes that year . . .

another trophy will take its place on an already crowded shelf, as a shiny and gold phalanx of still-life icons parade across the diamonds of his bedroom, of the fields of his dreams, and of his once-and-still-glorious paths, of summer . . .

his focus, his dedication, his ability, and his love of the game have elevated all who come to watch him play, for one cannot help but sense a kind of natural presence when he walks on a field . . .

and his quietly amazing talents, when fused with the sheer fervency of his youth, become the magic of all he will ever aspire to be . . .

and, in two weeks . . . the All-Stars . . .

 

 

 

from The Voyage of Kings – The Ring – The Sixth DoveTale – The Grace of Swans

 

 

 

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