Lexiconing Hope

 

The recluse in her rare way  

said it was "the thing with feathers"

and specified a  small bird

that sang in the gale.

 

I never found it  winged

as bird or angel  but something else

that arrived in my dream.

 

A maiden draped in long folds of linen,

holding a plant soft plumed in green.

 

Most of her face was hidden

beneath fallen hair, a crystal eye

and pale mouth revealed.

 

She told me

to provide the dream and prayer

then find this flower in the marsh.

 

Spread its leaves along the door step

and let my breath become

the wind that gives them flight.

 

Spring that carries the waiting,

pinnatus in her ancient tongue.