Astral Wings

by Leland Jamieson

For W.T.J.
May 14, 2007.

Though we are far away from you at four
o’clock this morning, I wake up and light
a candle on our mantle — metaphor
for fragile consciousness I would excite
(calmly!) and with your own, today, unite.
May yours be free of what might make you fret.
May you feel centered — and, in all, “all set.”

You want to heal and get on with your life —
the volleyball and pure math you so love
at URI! But first the surgeon’s knife
and saw in hand (in sterile rubber glove
beneath your collarbone) must free you of
your top-most rib which crowds your right arm’s vein
and artery — and caused that clot, and pain.

It grieves your mom and dad, your grandma, and
me too that you must suffer this “KO.”
“Why me?” you ask. We too. (Not what we planned.)
Though heart flash Inner Eye what’s apropos,
hush Inner Ear — alone, it can’t bestow
much certainty despite clay jabberwocky
old astronauts laid down (those Anunnaki.)

Then by what grit do we persist? What hope?
My money’s on Divine Intelligence.
It’s that which twists the body’s helix rope,
gives us a wealth of common and sixth sense,
supplies for tender flesh and bones defense
so skin-clad dreams may thrive — ’til, satiated,
we fly on astral wings they’ve celebrated.

© 2007 by Leland Jamieson



About the Author

Leland Jamieson lives and writes in East Hampton, Connecticut, USA. Recent and forthcoming work appears in numerous print and Internet magazines. His first book, 21st Century Bread, can be previewed and is available at


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