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La Divina Aurora

Anita Roy

 

La Divina Aurora


I
In the predawn dark
I walk a snakeskin skein
Past the stations of the cross.

II
In the dark before dawn
stone scales glimmer
like moonrock.

III
Listen: the spirals whisper.
The path follows the ossicles
of the inner ear. Hammer, anvil, stirrup:
each footfall, a soft drumbeat.

IV
The hillside ripples
beneath my feet. Flatrocks glint -
soft sparks struck from the mountain.
Feather boa discarded by the night’s last glamour.
Ammonite swirls lit by the moon.

V
Walk: the moonlit rockway
to the tower of silence.
Her eyes closed, palely dreaming, beneath
black curlicues of stone. White and blank,
her face naked to the night’s regard,
deaf to the moaning mountain wind,
blind to the chink of stars.

VI
Ariadne winds her white thread
through the pine labyrinth.
Gretel crumbles white pebbles to the
sugarcube, bonewhite house in the woods.
Atargatis howls from Syrian hills to her pines
calling, calling them home. A cone
uncurls its fist, hoists a fragile sail
to catch the night’s sigh: Aleppo.


VII
Exhale: great gap-toothed giant snoring,
mouth agape against the lifting light in the east.
My Lady stirs, still dreaming.
The first bird’s aubade scores the night,
with a sharp silver pin, a flick of
starlight beneath shadowed pines.

VIII
The church bell ring twice – just to be sure.
I am here. You are there: so I am here.
Calling, recalling us back to our abandoned bodies:
Come home. The hills are bare.

IX
Morning does not break on Peña de Sella,
The night merely trickles from its cupped hands.
Starlight falters, fades. The gauze silk snags
on the harsh ridge of hills. Bony nose,
A turned cheek, the dip of nape.

X
My Lady’s eyes flutter open to the distant
glint of ocean, cerulean blue – an arrowhead
where the thighs of the hills meet,
beckoning you to her hidden depths.
The nightjar calls.

XI
Inhale: almost there.
Stop at each station. Gather yourself.
Take up the cross, again,
and again, lay it down.
Exhale.

XII
The trees lift their branches in
supplication. Or maybe just pleading
the stars to stay as they rise to greet
Our Lady of the Morning.

XIII
Soft mountain. Inverted sea.
Watery grave. Dark light.
Haunted beach. Twisted pine.
Sleep walking.


 

Acknowledgements:

Anita Roy visited the Almassera Vella in April 2017 from Bath Spa University. She is and accomplished writer and editor - web-site: anitaroy.net

 

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