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Artenistas 7.6.2014

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Our Lady of the swinging branch
by Nancy Horton

Not from depth of dream to depth of earth
did she direct the assigned seeker of her being,
not like her of Tinos born in stony field
to reign from jewel-encrusted case on mountain-top
to millions across crystal seas;
here at the gate way of winds was Our Lady
blown to rest upon a swinging-branch;
she came air blown like her of Paphos;
Her niche, the living wood; consenting to these hills
of evergreen and olive, her throne of resin
and sweetly stinging needles.
Crossing the seas, they say from far Iconium
she flew to her elected forest; hovering
a while above the clutch of brittle thyme
and open heart of heather, she lifted her skirt
of homespun and perched upon
a swinging pine-branch.
“My place is here amid the Sporades,
my home this rocky courtyard where winds
are born, whose breath feeds my glow perceived
by many, flickering through the green
vortex of the forest
beyond the gates to the smallest storm-tossed craft”
I merge with the beat of my ever-swinging
branch, so know
no fear for the increasing storm,
but further spreads my light.

From the collection “My Poem” 2008, Atermono Publications, Athens

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