We who sleep are awakened by your holy blaze
Glory and love infuse the earth with sweetness . . .
Feather on the Breath of God
tiny feather, downy white
tucked under the wing
of mother dove
close to her breast
near to her heart
warm and safe
hidden, obscured . . .
I bring my camera to be ready
for that magic moment
when a squirrel, rabbit or deer
will lift its lovely face to me
when a bird or butterfly or dragonfly
will sit still long enough . . .
Let us remember and lay to rest
a creature so compliant
that she took the rules
and swallowed them whole
creating her own iron maiden
with a loud crack
broken alabaster in my hands
my heart also breaks open
releasing a roiling wave of scent
heavy and musky
speaking of earth
of buried seeds . . .
One of the stranger stories of the Bible is about Jacob wrestling with an angel. Apparently, this patriarch spent all night wrestling with an angel, saying, “I will not let you go until you bless me.” . . .
Dreams can be so weird. Other times so meaningful. And occasionally, both at the same time . . .
I can free myself and let the artifice blow away in the wind.
The eyes of my soul can illuminate the black of night . . .
When I am alone
when I let go of my doing
and sink into my being
Sometimes I hear a whisper
of my now and not yet . . .
I am one who waits
within the midnight of this shell
I feel my own fragility
all the possibilities for disaster
and oozing shame . . .