by John Marshall
Go up to the room at the head of the night,
up the stairway of shadows to the crypt of light.
Open the door to the spectral tomb,
where bats emerge from their midnight womb.
Go up to the room where the summer rain sleeps.
Go up to the room where the harpsichord weeps.
Take with you a doll from a child’s vernal years;
a vial of the essence of a widow’s tears.
Go up to the room of the raven’s treasure,
where the wind forever dreams of a blackbird’s feather.
Open the bays to the zephyr’s breath.
Whirl to the waves of its celestial dance.
Go up to the room where the wolf pack wails,
to the star-swept vault where the eagle sails.
Take with you a psalm for the creatures that sing,
adoration in tongues to the spirits of the wing.
Go up to the room of the hazel and the willow,
to the haven of the asp and the den of the armadillo.
Pray to the heavens and plead to the earth,
from darkness may come the sun’s rebirth.
© 2011 John Marshall
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