dark as coffee

Her skin was dark as coffee. 
She sat across the way, 
smiling with a serene glow that seemed to emanate 
from somewhere unknown, 
and her graceful limbs were relaxed, calm. 
From one moment to the next, 
I see her shimmer--
black Madonna, 
Mesquite tree, 
old bark as dark as coffee. 
Some would say there is no glow, 
they see only rough, dry, scaly trunk, 
yet shift perception and 
see the light from within for it is always there, 
the energy of Life that permeates everything around us, 
each element portraying its own essence 
shining through large or small. 
See 
the earth in Her feet, legs and torso, sturdy and obvious, 
the water She retains deep within that we can see by way 
of Her leafy green hair, slender to minimize evaporation, 
the fire in Her warm skin and limbs, 
the transformation of sunlight and Her vitality 
even in the hottest summer when She conserves resources, 
the air as She breathes and sways, 
Her movement a dance as She grows and fills the space around Her. 
Dark as coffee, she is chosen by the artist to create a tiny divine figure 
polished to a mahogany hue, 
the gentle curves become a woman, 
Her spirit shining through 
as the carver brings an image into form...Blessed Mother. 
She is holding the key to compassion 
that unlocks the door during the dark night of the soul. 
A dark night that may be a fleeting moment or a lifetime 
or are they one and the same? 
Who can know for sure within this illusory life we seem to live 
yet so much happens that we do not understand, 
our senses limit us within their reach and 
we can only guess through imagination and inner vision of Her Truth. 
Ebony and ivory, living side by side and peace formed 
through a symphony of rhythm and song 
that reaches beyond the limits of time and space. 
Our world orchestrated through our energies coming and going 
or pausing to listen when another is singing. 
Our world an incredible vibration of Life that soars and falls, 
flows and builds, transforms in immeasurable diversity. 
I am one and we are One. 
Same. 
Feeling the sadness of unknown origin flow through me 
without getting stuck because I see it, 
I feel the sticky fingers like a tree frog wanting to cling 
to the sides of the twisted tree that grows to survive 
yet allowing it to jump away--not stay--and then its life resumes 
and the twisted limbs become beautiful in their shapes of survival 
rather than frightened into a quagmire into which they could have fallen. 
The tree frog, out of its natural element, 
flies through the air for a moment without wings 
and glories in his freedom to sit in the sun on the rock, 
transforming into a lizard, basking, glowing, 
while the Mesquite nearby rests, 
crossing Her arms in a posture of peace, 
gleaming with inner wisdom, 
sharing shade in outer compassion, 
Her bark as dark as coffee.
_________
This was another writing prompt provided by Peggy Tabor Millin, ClarityWorks.