BLESSED B THE HERALD

by

Martin Higgins

She steps so surely,

From thought to thought,

Heart-held, truth-spoken,

Setting each hewn piece,

In its proper place,

Mortised brick and notched block,

Keyed stone, mortar, pestle,

Laying deep foundations,

Reaching down,       

Past thick inner mantle,

To bedrock being,

Core soul.

Blessed B.

And there, hardened by time,

Transformed by water,

Gone clear under pressure fire,

Cut, polished, star gleaming,

Her brilliant word light glistens,

Her lettered luminance,

Her shining surety,

Her bold proclamation,

Herald by name. 

Blessed B.

And her mind, prowling an ageless landscape,

Gathers brush, paint finds purchase,

Lifting, brandishing, offering,

Shot-straight strokes,

That render and shade,

Laid open under a Maxfield Parrish sky,

Her detailed heartland, foreground prominent,

A life mural daubed on the fieldstone wall,

Behind which my spirit hides,

Drugged by her gaze and driven to confess,

Drunk with pain as it drowns in delight,

Drawn from my sad-eared sorrow,

To take a deep draught of the Earthspring,

Limestone lagoon,

Where her shimmering images,

Send shafts of healing light,

Through somber depths,

To the fertile mud mother,

Of my clay soul,

That awaits only her fire,

To find its form,

To be. 

Blessed B.

And, as she speaks, I sit, rapt,

My spirit agape, turning to bask,

In her warm honest morning,

Her beneficent bequest.

Blessed B the Herald.

Copyright ©1998

Martin Higgins

all rights reserved