Magician's Wife

I felt I could not write, so I wrote this.

***

The words won't come,
they are not right
they hide and won't let their grip go
when I try to pull them out.
So the inner space seems empty
with flames burning at the edges
but when I look it's gone again,

Art by William Adolphe Bouguereau

in the time I pick up my pen
the glimpse is gone.

The pain, the sadness, the sacred
prayer and effort
the puffs of red flame and
waves of love
the crushing not knowing what to do
trembling, burning in the inner space
clamouring to be let out
threatening to destroy the whole heart
unless I find the right words.

The golden vapours, the indigo sky,
the stars and the snow
dyed with the blue of night.
The tears that won't come, the words
that won't come
the days that are altogether wrong...

The fir trees have stood in the forest
since the beginning of summer.
They look at me and they know
their silence is the same as this
only more peaceful, filled with grace,
patience, acceptance.