Open season on interpretation: Aile

Apparently, my muse - however briefly - flittered in to visit me today.

This is silver, in a shadow,
          a silent pause in silent nights,
     a moment lost
                   and remembered vast,
far away.
          A moment feathered and fair.

     Begemmed and yet begrimed,
                         paradoxic, impertinent I
have fallen fast
                 and far,
          unrepentant, unmoved, unstirred:
                        how far to this moment?

It is a thing of feathers,
               of hope unkindled, leaping
         with joy,
                   bespangled with stars.
A moment silver and silent, 
       waiting in the night,
             calling to impertinent I.

This is silver, in a shadow,
            calls me close and draws me in:
       A moment lost,
                  remembered now,
at last.
     How is it I
               had not heard before?

Lifted and uplifted,
              stirred by the soul,
     I cannot fly, I cling;
                  I fear to fall.
I am no feathered thing,
       no being of hope, I.

                And yet wings
like an eagle have I, borne
       on the breath of the dawn I 
                       am befeathered by light,
enfolded in glory and I
          am in the hands
of my Lord.
25-11-02