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
body
to forever
no punctuated explanations
there is no body
no soul
only this
which cannot be defined
poem from my first book Tinderbox
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William
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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