Lights
A poem from the Isla Danzante
Lights
The Golden Warrior of Light springs up again.
Emerges from the mountains here just off the shore.
It lights the cliffs that face it as it shines
from right behind the wall at our backs.
Frigate birds and pelicans begin to soar
and the calamitous chorus of the gulls is still
before they start the daily heckle cat call chorus.
A row of silent meditators sits on rounded rocks.
Open eyes and hearts in growing light.
They await the brilliant line
that grows into a glowing orb
and rises up exultant but unseen
though its light is everywhere.
The flash illuminating what was just a jagged line
against the stars,
with glowing glory.
Dawn between the mountains has its own drama.
No flash of sudden brilliance,
but none the less miraculous for what it does.
The bats return to where the heat can’t scorch.
The insect chorus changes and the wind wakes up.
The world has held her breath
while darkness exited before the dawning day.
So it begins.
A fresh delight.
A new array of challenges and strains.
A brand new start.
An opening for transformation.
Let it happen
Let it happen.
As if there was a choice.
As if the day would hesitate to come
because some unprepared would say:
“Hold it right there O Sun:
I need another fifteen minutes sleep
Obey my wrist-watch universe!”
The Golden Warrior wears no human clock.
We’d best learn how to bend
to set our tiny time pieces by
the gears that turn eternal.
By the lights that run the world.
While we pretend to understand
With tiny little watches
and our synthetic,
glass and silicon universes.