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Wendy E. Braun – This Existence

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Drafting: Sandalwood Saints

-I am working through the drafting process on this one. When I write, I like to work through a few drafts, playing with perspective, tone, and structure. Right now this poem is going through a bit of a fragmented phase. In this version, I am trying to maintain the lyrical qualities while discerning the places in which something more needs to occur.

Rise to drink the elixir of  Kailas before the first rays of dawn forever alter it.

Chant from texts and divine a time before the printed page demanded a certain weight, and divinity rose from the universe within.

Bathe in oils of amber and the sandalwood saints who wax awakenings of ascended masters.

Then walk to your own precipice with each step offer a mantra of awareness.

***

She rises in the early hours to drink of Kailas before the red of dawn forever alters it.

She chants from texts in a tongue divining a time before the printed page, demanded a certain weight, and transcendence arose from the universe within.

Alone, she bathes in oils of amber and the sandalwood saints wearing awakenings of ascended masters.

Walking to her precipice, a pause and then with each step she offers a mantra of awareness.

 

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I can say…

anything here.

More than I have been allowed in years
and years of words,
of shame,
of love,
of wonderings like wine spilling over empty cups
and hives that drown in their own honey.

I looked to Anteros but he only offered silence.
Winged things understand little of the distance.

The gods cannot comprehend the chasm
where I’ve focused my gaze and immersed
beliefs in dancing shadows,
how it divides and swallows up
all that is known or what could be if
certainty existed at all.

My love walks a wire,
each step promising something more salient and yet
they say I’ve cried away the bits of light that illuminate.

I’ve cried hovering there and balanced between
the book of flying weighted against the history of love
without rescue from you because you
are like the white stag of winter
elusive in all forms.

There is that nothing space where tears create a river
for wild things with fins and things with wings
and there I am with arms,
and legs,
and a wire.

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