I see You there, covering
me – a cathedral ceiling
of finespun gold, aspen-boughs
crowning my way with glory.
I hear You in the whisper,
silent assignations passed
from one trembling yellow throat
to another, gentle sighs.
I feel Your gaze rocking me sweet,
and I breathe, slow and deep, pause
mid-stride to rest in dappled
acceptance, cherished by shade.
You are here. You, Your essence,
Your presence – it sings, sunshine
in shadow, gold filigree
on an altar made of wood.
Splintered, I crack open. Your
notes rustle in my veins, seep
past knots, and I’m rooted here,
utterly, completely me.