Kelley White Counsel Here the message carved on the skin of a sapling, here the secret stitched on the back of a stone, here the whisper woven into the river, the silence wrapped in the white of a bone. Yesterday’s twilight sang to the birds of the highway, gentled evening into the dark of the hill, quieted dawn through the pinhole of Saturn, weeping; pitied the housewife sweeping without a broom. Read the conclusion torn from the back of a sparrow, sing the inscription bleeding down yesterday’s face; carry moonlight home to the doves of the evening, wrap them with ribbons rent from the bricks of disgrace. Root them in sand with the skull of an osprey, scrape it and grind with the claw of a crone, bury it wrapped in the husk of a deerchild, make the sign of the hawk, mark the sign of the glove. Watch for the heat that rises before you see fire, summon the shout that defines the morning with grief.  Dive for the merchants who cry out for pearls and for amber. Beg for the moment when cattle and  ducklings release.  Uncover the seam that was whittled from childhood. Speak to the angel who brazens the sword of the priest.  Sustain the dance the silent one has forgotten. Answer the hermit who quickens the water and reeds. Gather the remnant of crystal and vagabond children.  Teach them the lessons the swallows engraved on a leaf. Unbind your hair and caress the walls of the fortress.  Slip off the veils of your father’s beliefs.

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