“When they ask to see your gods
your book of prayers
show them lines
drawn delicately with veins
on the underside of a bird’s wing
tell them you believe
in giant sycamores mottled
and stark against a winter sky
and in nights so frozen
stars crack open
spilling streams of molten ice to earth
and tell then how you drank
the holy wine of the honeysuckle
on a warm spring day
and of the softness
of your mother who never taught you
death was life’s reward –
but who believed in the earth and the sun
and a million, million light years of being.”
~JL Stanley

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Image: Soil, Root and Fern
by Nancy L