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 Spirit Chimes

Crystal Eden

"You were born with wings."

I enter the garden as if to
cultivate the snow and
I believe my prayers have
reached heaven in fragments:
diamond petals of hope,
crushed ice tears . . .
the work of winds
that prey on soulfire in
its midst
when warm hearts clash like
love and fear
with its razor screams.

But my soul has learned
the lessons of survival,
like rose vines at
the end of
the stone path:
If they remember their past
life of angel's blood
and pink perfume
they never weep,
but pose in glass
unbreakable as the
air that grinds breath
into stone

when I believe in spring
and rivers that don't
gasp or beg

when heaven becomes
something white and sequined
and my spirit sees its
splintered reflection
in ice.

Patricia Joan Jones

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