let night erase these dust soft prints walked bare to the river among broken leaves – let the rain want our walking prayer, bind it mud, mycelium and root to the living – let the stirring of leaves, high in the canopy, be the breath of our prayers becoming the wind that turns and brings…
once, when the world was new and shadows still danced on the edge of tomorrow and the She who sees us could still be seen, birds learned to make morning from the dark of night – singing the world into form.
coming home in the night the river still flows dark under that quiet dream sky and we fall to that flow as we fall to sleep and the water reclaims us fin and gill and speaks us silver ripple and quiet splash to the trees. if there was a long night it was dark and…
and sometimes the world sighs a moment – floats pink petals on dark water that flows slow-deep beneath old forest boughs heavy in bloom.