Community
The birds are soaring in sacks again
Great virtual bags of flight
As if some spirit cowgirl
Had lassoed them
And was spinning and hurling them
About the sky--tethered to her intent--
The outer birds scrambling
Fluttering their wings
Lining the liminal
That keeps the void at bay,
Sometimes tumbling free of the field
To plummet,
Arabesques, archangels, who
Meet and merge again
Prodigals, pilgrims, purgatorial souls
Admitted to the bubble
Of God breath
Dialog from the cloud
Mouth
Floating and swirling
Dark blizzard of snow specks
An alphabet streaming to the cliff
Of wires, grammar
Alighting, transcendent progression
Spacing neatly along the lines
Like soldiers scooting, elbows out,
Exacting room for each other,
Resting ready
To depart
Tuned into the static code
Returning ever in fractal
Unison toward Bethlehem
To be born.
I live with other women in an intentional community on this land. I can not separate the genius loci from the community of women who live, love, and nurture each other here. As I watch birds gather in flocks for their journey in the fall, I see the spirit or genius of their community.
