A currency of light washes like satin
against a silver mist in a slight of time,
delicate as the moon is long in emotion –

I become this lunar salience and reflect
the silklong of whitesong, like a fallen timber
in Elements of my life, like a tandem star

within myself, I am mirror-against-mirror,
a cameo whose admonition of unresolved
feelings melt into the constellation of my birth,

creased like a truth unknown until that very
moment of awareness, a prefix to inner
knowledge as an understanding – even

before conscience was a thought, so I grip
the talons clean of my birthright and assail
the night in a solemn phrase of ascension,

an abhorrence of elevation, the twilight
of Self in emergence, and carry the gilded spark,
like I was handed the Olympian sun in winter.
 
 
 

© K. James Ribble