Feeling the pulse of God
within the heartbeat of humanity
the ebb and flow of tides
the turn of seasons.
seeing the shape of God
in the curve of a breast
and a sea-worn stone
and the white-fleshed scars of old wounds,
hearing the voice of God
in a thousand stories,
long-lost meanings found in the mud of pain,
triggers my instinct to celebrate.
And the tired,
trapped lark,
loosed from its cage of silence
rises
singing
to make its home in the wide sky
and the wind-fingered grass.
7th June 92
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