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 Your
eyes are clouded beneath a canopy,
your limbs lie in linen, in your mouth one last breath.
Recall the colors of your days, are you satisfied with the path you have
tread.
make peace with your person, and resigned to dying, find yourself re-birthed
instead.
The sixth night leads
me to the bedroom, painted with scenes of the Self in her several stages,
the same four walls redecorated and redecorated. For one lifetime witnesses
many lives, many bodies worn and shed, personalities developed and discarded,
many births and many deaths. Just as Jerusalem's Temple was lost and won
and lost again, so too are we forever falling, and redefining, losing
and re-finding, a new beginning born with every end.
Nightly I lay my soul
to rest here, my breath slows, the world recedes, I experience the end
of all, only to dream, and be reborn, burdenless to the morning. The bed
a soft cocoon, a womb, a tomb, a room of rejuvenation. These are the four
walls of rebirthing — where the bed of birth
becomes the bed of death — the drive to end
yet begin again.
The six flames lift
from the ash like a phoenix, reviving life in her circular stride. Though
history be a looping spiral, Redemption lies at the end of the line.
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