A book is like an angel’s
breath . . .
it breathes a wisp of air
a silent thing, as of life
from death
The secret sigh of wings of
purest breadth:
hidden width in lines of
gifted sight;
Wisdom, as the in and out
of air:
breath-filled life, in the
heart that joys
to relinquish what it
harbours
In lines of joy, in dreams of
angel flight
the spirit’s sojourn
As a selkie’s lift to tip
me ever onwards
Prized open here to take
in light
and on toward new streams
thought;
Hope so near in lighted understandings,
in writing caught in airy comprehending:
As an angel’s breath, inside
the hidden inner heaven in me . . .
the hidden inner heaven in me . . .
Poem
from a Sequence:
A Rain of Booklight
Part 1 # 22
Part 1 # 22
© Judith Evans
Deverell, 2014
The
Bookmark Project
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