The River Beneath the River

[pjthompson]

 The River Beneath the River

 

The river beneath the river

pushes through the desert

where the old woman gathers bones.

Bones, bleached white, cluster

at her feet, skulls on the banks

roll onto the warm sand beach

where the oracle sits, knitting.

Stitch by stitch, each to each, one by one,

she urges the bones back together,

singing songs of reconsecration,

singing soul-songs of life renewing.

Done, she flings them back into the flow

to float upon in the river beneath the river,

to bob onto a new, green shore,

to stand upon their feet, enfleshed and flexing,

to walk the earth once more.

 

This is my soul-song, my reconsecration.

These are my bones, floating along.

This is my fur flushing across my skin.

This is life returning to my soul.

These are my legs carrying me onward

into the new land, the green land, bound

for I know not where.