Seeing me, the heron
turns abruptly in flight,
it’s something that we are.
No, not the threat.
The turning and away.
Disappearing sweep of blue-grey.
Not like something gone
or best forgotten;
not like a secret.
into your darkness;
bury it like a seed.
That we are streams of being
tap-rooted into origins, infinite
and abundant, makes sense to me.
Sunlight, water and seed.
Divine blood coursing through our veins,
yet so often the “but”.
Some little darkness squatting
just below wisdom, whispering us blind;
sharpening scissors and worshiping names.
key of time-dipped flesh-wrapped blood and bone naked in a field before god faceted door of doors beginning to end and start again. turn your story of word gesture life and death arms spread fists clenched tears of joy angst and wonder. sing your story naked in a field before god.