White peacock with tail of cloud and flame
sweeps before us
through blue wilderness
a pillared neck and unseen eye.
I have been gifted to see visions;
not to understand.
Moon unscrolls with lambent plea
her pictograms of smoke
before my darkened face . . .
Should I seek interpretations?
Too late; like winking stars
or wind-borne dust,
motes of memory
in light dispersing . . .
only
blank words like stones
memorial and graceless
are left standing
in the shadow of the sun.
Copyright © 2018 by Ruth Asch.
