Poem: Indigo Child | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine

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Poem: Indigo Child


God’s messenger drifts
through the hallway,
scattering scraps in her wake.
She keeps The Word
on a Post-it,
mistranslates Rilke to taste
truth in a foreign tongue,
tears leaves from old books and
whites out lines to reveal
the kernel that sprouts because
is the seed of all things.
Every day she
composes scripture.
Dear child,
in time I have come
to realize there is only
one verse
at the center of this
whirling cosmos,
but still we will not see it.
Keep scraping away at your
palimpsest, child.
The Thousand Things are only
clouds between us
and the light
by which we read
the poem
at the center of the wheel.
When you have erased so much ink
that the paper itself
transmits the truth,
you will know.

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