My hands are holding branches of the Douglas firs, and by haloed moon
I carry them to the rims of the sighing sea.
These are my alms that I lay unto the waters, light by light,
silver road by silver road, the city’s edges fall away
into the landscape of quiet regarding.
All I ask for is a moment to retrieve, and the gusts to blow with softness;
in lieu of a night without its stillness, let me hear the ocean heave.
A gentle quelling, to keep the world in the darkened palm, I walk
the shore with its hum and swelling balm, washing my tired feet of their
long wending misadventure from womb to here.
So is the incantation; bring wisdom to my heart by way of waves
and by the stones licked in salt and kelp. These hours
of silent willing into the hushing sands and foams
lets the trance extend out. By way of me, out my eyes – not lips –
into wafts of white gold, this pewter lit threshold with no lantern flame
allows the cut smiles of celestials to shine. I am asking, how many galas
has this universe thrown, and what body first waltzed its way
around a star, and slid into its groove?
Every new day, I hear a new calling; spirits never grow weary
in their advice. Aloft the spires of the forest, gods have not retired, never
broken off from their weathered thrones –
we can love them, you and I, without offerings or blood.
Deep, I’d wander into the rolling sea, perhaps I’d stray too far –
more misadventures, I’d say, to have in the kingdoms of the ghosts.
Here, I lay the fingers of firs upon the blue breast;
she swallows them in her drifting hills, splashes their needles onto my knees.
Night is alive, like I am, and like all things, we both need food and rest.
Both of us inside, shadowed, hidden, and untouched, dim but bright.
Great image provided by allswalls.com – Thank you.