If  

if for a moment
I weren’t bound by beads or hallelujahs,
if an angel was not trampled

if I could hold this,
if I could dig tenderly through flesh and bone
and wrap this bottomless ache
in silk, sweetgrass and buffalo hide
if I could bury it deep in the birch and pine
if I could wait for spring
if blossoming was a certainty
if desire had wings
if I could pretend we were iron shaped by torch,
if this was not a fragile cup
too close to the edge

if I could close my eyes and not see
if lips were merely the opening
if there were a new law written
if sorrow was not noon’s shadow
if holding you meant releasing me,
if for a moment the northern lights
could dance in the sun
if peace was not a frozen wound
if this river could be still

if bison could reclaim his hide from the drum
pull bones from the land and rise again
if I could be magpie - adaptable and noisy
if fox and devil-bear were tamed
if wildness was not treacherous
and intoxicating.

if for a moment
I could peel back the sky

I’d show you night diamonds

 

© 2006 Deborah Vos