A Concrete Turn

A painful searching for the correct comment
Wearies me and weighs my words with woe.

I lay in Long Island: waiting where my lofty shuddering was
Alive to its own rarities: in vastly loving trials that

Belonged to my stars in renaissance of long lost
Moments whose restoration I fought,  

Clinging also to familial supports by which I hid from
Dignities pendent in the majesties of Her craft;

When in that night -- a night of place and time yet of
Beautiful possibilities rendering woe into causes

I sought to love as the creative night of my dreams--
I rode sapphire patient poesy to the notions of kindness

Beyond home; past thought, taste, habit, convention; and
Within magick's peace.  Having been, I so felt, doomed,

I thought to call Home to bid farewell to the past life of
Bounded affections emplaced in the frame of parents'

Expectations and hopes:  and then embracing the
Fullness of my own rights and the Sanctity of soft lofty peace,

I dressed my foundations in those of a beauteous new bridge.
Worlds of passion, stars of freedom, circled the shifting freedoms

Of my coming-to-be a sister in three.

But I then, tho perhaps later, came to wield an aggressive spirit,
Stripped of compassion, against new targets that I identified

The enemy of my new presence.  I was a woman, erect,
Energetic of a clear existence, without a binding mist of

Obligation and inhibition. My friends and sisters sought me
some morning where I was in the top bunk and

Perhaps ironically genuflected to my power, wherewith
I searched as well for destruction as peace.

May the understanding comprehend as well as storms of passion
A concrete turn to an opening of life.