The Proper Fervor

by Robert Gray

Crush sunlight into small pieces,
shards of copper, bronze, and brass.
Sprinkle them into the softest regions of your tender
where you still cling to your sweet smelling mother,
Awaken your thirst by imagining
the touch of the perfect lover.
Remember the ancient taste of burning.

If you feel your want deeply enough,
acutely enough, and with the proper fervor,
like a spittle-flinging lioness
wrenching the flesh from the bone,
If you go that far into the dark,
that deeply into the black of yourself, a red will grow.
A red that sings the song of time,
and dances the dance of spiral.
A red that seeps out to the very tips
of your fingers as they reach

       across

crackling space.

A red that floats into the quiet half-light of dusk,
like the whisper of sheets
being folded back from a marriage bed.

Then, softly, quietly, the sweet begins to bloom.
The stars give birth to roses.
The ocean walks across the grassy plain.
The sun hums to itself a melody of golden delight.
Here, now, inside this quivering skin.

Robert Gray was born in 1960 in Sacramento, California.  He joined the Navy in 1979, and spent five years as a member of the Seabees.  Robert received a BA in Architecture from UC Berkeley in 1989.  He received an MA in Culture and Spirituality from Holy Names College in 2000.  He currently makes his living as a yoga teacher and carpenter in Oakland.