the humane holy

the humane holy


guardian of the hearth

squat under cedar arms

holding court

with shadows and ghosted fungi fear

my feet are bare

and make soft imprints

in the murmuring grass

i want to feel the earth

breathe under me

have that breath

move over me

and collapse all my expectations

grass becomes bare soil

and my feet are searching

cedar wraps itself around me

ancient wisdom conveyed

in the language of scent

guardian calls me

i reach out in the pre-sun

something about g_Od losing itself

in the magnitude of this connection

flesh to granite

revelation coming

in palm flattened strokes

a curve in history

fire-womb markings

i lose place willingly

let go

and give something called


to forever

no punctuated explanations

there is no body

no soul

only this

which cannot be defined

poem from my first book Tinderbox

2 Kudos


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William's profile picture

Such beauty. You island people! You bring all the senses to life. You and Robin Skelton share the same poetic forest.

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