Wondrous

Who says the trees have no tongues?
                They wag
                          when I walk by,
their speech, the fallen foliage, crisp and christening -
they know.
They see, affirm the oath of long ago,
        and
        among the humble orchids, I'm led to fire.  They teach
me of the Godhead.  They
                                 teach me not to
fear.
It's not luck but mystery beneath my
feet
     that grows so
            green.
I am tracking, arrow straight, paving now, rough though it goes,
                         against a pale but valiant sky.
There's light enough, and I am native.
The
wise
warn that dead is the deed, and triumph lies in words, but the
word
      died and then came alive
             and calmed the storm,
                                     so I lay down depth
                                            and sweep in depth's returns.
                                                   What man rules here?
I kneel
for a better view,
      and the mountains move.
                     In the city where the flowers waft plain and pure, I dot my wrists
                                      with oil
and offer up my birthright.  In the distance,
                                         there's an outline, and I call.
                                                               I'm out of
                                          hiding,
                                          healed from the wound
that caused me stumble,
free to dance,
free at last.

Write at the Merge