Delivered by Angels

Before the birds of morning
you woke me from my sleep—
entered through the window
of a dream—
climbed through the gnarled forest of my hair
and over the desert of my untouched skin
to the place that glows heavy with blood
and the seeds of children
and other men once grew briefly
and sometimes flowered.

At the sill you gripped the edge of the dream,
announced yourself the new keeper of the garden,
advised this mistress
we must plant now
before it is too late to harvest
the abundant bounty
that comes after the moon
and before the heat of full summer.

You pulled yourself with strong arms
into the embrace of my body,
curled yourself perfectly between my legs
and whispered the secret you’d finally found
of balancing black and white,
night and broad daylight,
hot and the icy cold of alone,
fire and water,
deafening silence and the mercy of birdsong.

I drifted along on the incoming tide that is you--
wild roses and sea grasses reminding me
it is impossible to ignore destiny or truth
when he comes before dawn in a dream,
lighting the way when everything else
is so dark.

The gown of my sleeping self is wet
with the dew of your sweetest kisses.
In this place of kindness I smile for the first time in days
and count myself lucky with each minute you follow me
toward the starry promise of another hour of dreaming.

I gladly recline on the cool of fresh sheets
where night air delivers comfort
through the new green of maple
and purple wind chimes of twilight.
I exhale and surrender to the ways
angels deliver their most holy gifts.