Once, When Looking Up

yellow aspen

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.

Breaking Through

pineshine.jpg

Forest feels like second skin by now,

beam upon beam raised in self-defence.

Logging permits don’t pass easily –

deforestation is distinctly painful.

But when pines part,

oxygen stirs,

canopy is cut,

there You are,

breaking through boughs,

 illuminating dark and stained cells,

ushering in daylight

where angels feared to tread.

And as dead branches fall,

tentacles tremble in triumph;

sap stirs

and green grows

and oh, the grace

of breaking through…