Reflection The Fragile Cheek of Heaven
Blue waves of light scatter on the horizon
and ease me into quiet conversation.
A wordless dialogue: soft, pink, radiant and
framed in abstracts of powder white plumes,
the smooth, fair cheek of a fragile china doll.
The morning sun burns rouge as a ringed outline appears.
Masterful strokes of white lay against the gray-blue vastness.
A scene of grandeur painted by the Divine, the grammar of bright star and cloud speak volumes.
First, a golden scepter reclining on its side,
resting atop a plush pillow-cushion that unfurls gentleness below.
As the handle turns upward and the jewels reach heaven,
it seems the gems were not jewels after all but sparkling eyes beneath a brim.
Next, a radiant face shines beneath an adorned brow,
a handsome, pristine head-dress stands quilled; visible rays of yellowed-orange feather tips giving wings to my soul.
From this height, the signal of the beacon now becomes known,
ascending the tower of sky, beyond the mist, a faint image now clear.
Finally, a lighthouse of grace upon the coast; a guide for battered ships,
away from the rocks and toward the pass as I journey near.
I shall not forget the wings of heart this morning I have discovered.
In flight I can soar above the rocks and brush the fragile cheek of heaven.
When night arrives, and I kneel down to embrace my daughter,
it is the bright blue eyes of my china doll, that call me back again; back to the cheek of heaven.
Bill Hudson # October 30, 2014