Here Come the Night Angels
tremulous, a hinted glow, trick
of the eye in darkness. You breathe
their wing-beat without knowing
and sleep descends. Inside the swathe
of random reflection they repose,
flick aside your fears and fidgeting,
the dread whenever you lay your head.
A blank slate wiped clean opens
the door to the blackboard of night,
where angels wait at the threshold
to frame you within their void, token
of absolute stillness. Clothed in white
oblivion, they shroud you under the lintel
of dreams and close the world behind.
Sanctum
Lost in a world drawing camellias,
entranced by abundant flowering
starry and wild in a sky of foliage, my hand
and eye followed as a navigator's sextant,
drawing bloom upon bloom were daily mandalas,
meditation leading me to a spiral maze centre.
When a crazy world about me raged
in a tornado of lies and destruction
fanning its fury in a bankrupt wasteland,
the eye of some other storm anchored
my heart in a hidden sanctum of peace,
secret and still, unfurling its bounty.
Flight of the dragonfly 