3/26/2008

Less Real Than

I'm not aware of many things.
How do I prepare myself to wound
what I have healed?

I must ask the soul simply
how to recognize itself
in the dark

like the owl who leaves
its home and flies
focused and low.

Our path is not defined;
prisoner or freed our road
is dream, our wakening

shifting, changing.

Everything else, the beautiful
fading images, the coherent
fabulous things are less

real than memory.

6 comments:

Nobius said...

Powerful.

You're simply wonderful Rachel.

RachelW said...

I was sad to see the wolf-girl was gone. I enjoyed meeting her through your poem and I hope she will be back here one day.

Rachel Phillips said...

Thank you both for you comments!

RachelW said...

Thank you for bringing the wolf-girl back!

Okir said...

This is beautiful & mysterious

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

I am amazed all over again with every new poem, at the way you go straight to my heart and soul like a laser.

Is it the honesty, the simplicity, the beauty, the craft, the message...? All of them: it's the POETRY!