Soul Portrait [February 2004]

a body bound to earth,
its skin of yellow clay
raked here and there
by sculpting fingers.
hair like grass turned dead
soaked by red ocher and
bleached by sun's gold.
the nose: misshapen stone
tossed upon a sleep-gray face
above a smear of sandstone
grumbling with the ground.

but beneath scrub-brush of brows -
the eyes
mirrors of the self and sky,
from false-dawn gray to autumn blue,
fixed ever on the clouds -
and can you see?
through fogged windows
the true shape of the soul...

the east wind's cry
and all the sky
forged into winged form
and starlight stolen
with the moon
just to be transformed
to feathers bright
with silver fire
soaring on the storm -
a phoenix flies
in glory high

- but yearns, and wonders why
she's trapped within this human shape
of earth
and clay
and stone...