By John Fox

I turn in place like a waterwheel
that gathers my immense thirst in small pieces
again and then again
and I drift down as leaves in air
float to earth over and over.

Yet the whole ocean heaves within me
and the immense oak shudders
as if that were the sound of my shadow.

As if they were holy things,
I touch leaf and water with my palm
lined with ages
of longing. For what?

for that heart opening
stillness that sings
only in the present moment.

Always there is this:
hope and dying alive in the same house.
I know I’m confused. I say:
"Keep me safe, let me loose!"

How strange to consider
that God is inside me
as a deep and vivid silence
right here
within my human cry.



Editor's note: John is the author of Poetic Medicine and you can find lots of information about his fabulous work at www.poeticmedicine.com


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