Bring me…
Bring me the stones
Of ancestral
Worship
Hear them crack
Down your back
Twisting
Round
Your spinal column
As fingers sink in Earth
Toes drift to sky
Hands pulled by strings
Of stories
Screaming
Twisting
Longing to be told
To be carved on skins
To be blessed In wombs
Of unfolding futures
Of unfolding Wings…
Of unfolding Dreams
Of un-coding the Prayers
Of long-dead things
Braided your hair in the river’s stream
Departing - rejoining
Twisting and coiling
Merging and morphing
In one
Separate in their wonderings
Merging in their dancing
They may go far
But always always returning
Hearing the Calling
Back
Calling back to Source
Calling back to Source
The Fount
Spewing forth from cracked Rock
the gaping mouth
At the top of the Mountain
Can you hear?
…It still sings
It’s still calling
It’s still falling
Rain…
In the Void
Between the Peaks
Scratching the skies
Sweeping their clouds
Etching the Life-paths
…Down the landscape
A promise of meaning
Written
In the palm of your hand
drying, cracked in the sand
Pruny and withered in water
Dissolving…. In wet earth
Dissolving…. Through a birth
The longing sung
All the way up
To the S t a r s