experiences are gathered
like linen strips
of a daily scroll
pressed into skin
the lesser drawings of life
become a resinous
coating of survival
the imprisoned soul
lives on dreams
of a barque sailing
the breath of Osiris
until hidden truths crack
open the wings of scarabs
secreted between the folds
of an individual life
and those small iridescent angels
begin humming and beating
their song of unravelment
Previously published online at
David Whyte's Many Rivers Homepage
