it is not the moon
full shadowed,
crescent bright
nor the flourish of stars
in gods were here ink swirls
across the patient night.
it is not the soft silence of forest
on whispered mornings in spring
nor sticky air, pollen sweet on my skin.
it is not the have my breath eagle,
hands held to shade the sun
or even the pause beat
pattern
of light through leaf.
all of these i fall to,
hold on to, to soothe the ache.
all of these are gifts –
love tokens
to my new awakened heart.
it is my feet
walking quiet
through the busy of the world
that speaks my name to the sky
tells me who i am
reminds me
i am here.
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