Treasure Chest

His treasure chest, one delicate ruby,

Rising and falling, the lid of the chest,

Rising, falling.

With each breath he takes the sheets tighten

Into little valleys of light blue, soft blue,

Little valleys.

Among the valleys are little sheep,

On the edges of whittled kneecaps

And pointed ribs.

Little sheep.

Hollow cheeks once rang

Songs with the joy of gold.

Eyes of stained glass windows

Reflecting a last spark.

Return to nature, return to the source

Of all music and all matter.

Return to the memories of who we once were.

The table of plenty, set with silver,

He is invited to the table of plenty,

And to dine in clouds where the falcon cries–

Set with silver the table of plenty.

Around him, hovering around,

Engulfing him in light

With halos and wings outspread,

Hovering around.

Until, his glassy orb

Wanders around the room

And settles on the open window,

Where the kiss with no face and no lips

Brushes back the curtains.

And circling high, high above,

In a vortex of love

The falcon awaits

His ascension and resurrection.

High above are his gates.

Glistening now, the key ring,

And the mighty hand

Stretching out to receive.

Unlatching the lock,

Glistening now, in a sea of light glistening…