It’s All Good
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

Everything is charged with magic,
dervishes trace enneagrams on the ground in Konya,
the central stem of the Y holds the point
where the path to heaven divides.

And here I am in bed—a poultice of lavender flowers
on my heart. I can barely move. I am sweating my soul
right out of my body, and last night I dreamt
I was a skeleton climbing Jacob’s Ladder.

It’s all good though—as they say—whoever they are
who have everything good. Their point is
no matter how sick I become, birds descend and ascend,
and peacocks will always quiver-fan their feathers open
revealing the eyes of god. There are outlines
of crystals and crossroads, animals and rivers,
triangles and constellations on the palms of my hands.
And on a mountain ledge a cricket watches over us all.

Yet, I am keenly aware the eye of my eternity
has begun to blink, the dodecahedron of my brain
has turned into a seed, and the wind
is a pack of lions coming my way, and my soul
has turned into a fish looking for the sea.