Once She Came as a Dove

In Palestine once she came as a dove,
and to Ireland she came,
the wind whistling in her wing tips,
as a wild goose;
but she comes to my garden
a small dark bird,
dark among the dark leaves,
darker than emerald or jade.

And she speaks with two voices,
and at the same time,
and with no gloss on her glossolalia.

One declares a new word from heaven:

"Hear what the Lord would say ...
'Woe to him who reads my words
just for mathematics sake
and then is bold to fix a date
for my judgement day.
I have other days in mind', says the Lord."

The other with metalepsis mellifluous
sings the prophets thus:

"Don't go playing no shell games with God..."
"There's no success like failure..."

The word said, she may linger;
she may hymn the grace
that lifts the shadow off the Western Hills
as the sun rises, glorious, through autumn mist
or she may take her prophecy
and sing it out
in another garden.

tuesday 24 May 2011 @ Maunu, Whangarei