I carry the sun to you, this lone day
ending the Gaelic harvest; celebrate
being your diary, journal lighting way
to clarity. I light dark open gates
welcoming cattle descending narrow
paths from summer pastures. Light blessed bonfires
with powers to protect and cleanse marrow
of your soul. Sit and tell me your desires,
your dreams, your sense of the divine. Oh, share
your visions you don’t dare share with the world.
Classic Romans honored priests who tracked flare
of birds’ wings, citing flight as coded words
from the gods. I study your precious flight
to find yourself, spirit lighting the night.
Roger Armbrust
November 1,
2013
