So much life
flows around me
more than I could gift to the holy forest floor–
“I am here,” I whisper
and stack stone on stone. They reply:
it’s not us you try to convince.
Below me dangles mossy river, tangling
rising reeds and stone clothed stone I could slip
but grooves are cut in these stones
in shapes of circles.
It is in the emptiness that I am wide and
water kitten droplets jump from strong mother,
mewing at my skin, fur on fur.
In the purple light of granite songs
my soul in my ears:
it is the sound of wild rosemary brushed by soft palm, baked gently in benevolent light,
of delicious articulated breeze, so strong so as to unstick the hair from my brow,
of my skin against your skin, beautiful collision of forward-bound minds,
of stable blood tipped upside down as ephemeral flesh journeys through space and kindness,
of the stumble against bald rock and the gifted grace of strong fern,
of the mosquitos which play in the leaping waters and for all the smacks we’ve had together, here do we all exist
of the tall liquid sun which drips kisses and majesty and texture and contentedness,
of the pleasure of small appetite and hungry heart which hungers in depths of smooth cave for soul—
which I can hear.
The grass parts long enough
for me to lie down, to tuck
my head against the burrows of river beds
near the roots of alpine flowers.
I am given love;
I am made of love. Love through
the water which flows, harbors
mosquitos (from which love shines too),
love through the forest blood–
through the water kittens
through the evening sun
through the inevitable moon
through the gift of finitude
through the talents of creation
through the soul
I can hear in my ears
by the water which flows,