I The Passage

before you, mother Idoto,*

naked I stand;before your watery presence, a prodigal

leaning on an oilbean,lost in your legend.

Under your power wait I on barefoot,watchman for the watchword at Heavensgate ;

out of the depths my cry:give ear and hearken . . .

* A village stream. The oilbean, the tortoise and the python are totems for her worship.

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M01A_LABY_REA_5692_TXT.indd 3 09/03/2011 18:29

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Heavensgate

dark waters of the beginning.

Rays, violet and short, piercing the gloom,foreshadow the fire that is dreamed of.

Rainbow on far side, arched like boa bent to kill,foreshadows the rain that is dreamed of.

Me to the orangerysolitude invites,a wagtail, to tellthe tangled-wood-tale;a sunbird, to mourna mother on a spray.

Rain and sun in single combat;on one leg standing,in silence at the passage,the young bird at the passage.

M01A_LABY_REA_5692_TXT.indd 4 09/03/2011 18:29

The Passage

silent faces at crossroads: festivity in black . . .

Faces of black like long black column of ants,

behind the bell tower,into the hot gardenwhere all roads meet:festivity in black . . .

O Anna at the knobs of the panel oblong,hear us at crossroads at the great hinges

where the players of loft pipe organsrehearse old lovely fragments, alone –

strains of pressed orange leaves on pages,bleach of the light of years held in leather:

For we are listening in cornfields among the windplayers,listening to the wind leaning over its loveliest fragment . . .

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M01A_LABY_REA_5692_TXT.indd 5 09/03/2011 18:29