My Life in the Land of Ghosts
In this land of ghosts I met a man with blue eyes
They told me this would happen, in the stars,
Or when I saw in myself as the idea of witch
Living with the quieter souls in the monastery
His eyes are illumined from within and they burn
With pain, and sorrow, and love and passion.
I ask myself, do they burn for me or the idea of me
As a woman, a cipher, a love which cannot be born?
This blue-eyed ghost wants to touch me, as though
A doll, dress me in pretty things and make me bend
He does not love me but cannot live in pain. And
So, reaching out, he says my skin is soft and my lips pure.
In this land of ghosts where stones are painted white
And sheep bleached in sun and rain stand immobile
On hill and field, his blue eyes took me to mountains
And to the trees. This oak is alive, he says, and feeling
The bark, I felt its life-force move like blood and breath
On one side sun and the other moss, so now I will
Never lose myself, or others, in this ghosted land
As I watch him become this tree or his eyes become
As sky or water. Here the air is damp and cool
And my eyes do not close in dust or sand or wind.
His are open as he leads me, with hands that cover mine,
Through a land of words I do not know, have never heard
He sings these words alive, so that passing each hill
And mound, each house and road, there is a song or
Story; the world is sprung anew, as if through his
Blue eyes, I begin to see the world anew.