The Foot of God
I held on longer than most
to the secret of Wonderland.
or floating O of a cheerio
nor a painting of a ship
can sail you there.
To look at the world from another angle
you need simply tilt your head!
Things begin to look up
when the sea hangs above the sky
and the spiral of galaxies
echoes of some unspoken words
In the infinite inches between us.
The only mystery to me;
the shallow still bowl
dipped in the navel of the valley
a glass of wine, rolled in your hand.
We stand on opposite, perpendicular, mountains
and you, a stranger, on the other side
feel so dear to me.
I shout, wave, caww like a jackdaw
whisper in your ear the smallest of SOS's.
Your voice carries; "Pardon me? I didn't catch that!"
Let's face the facts;
disregarding (the red herring) of the binoculars
you were a stamp collector.
I beat a retreat
underwater into waving wheat which like
the honey comb light
treats me gently
into a golden afternoon
and I am
no more than a piece of nature
as anonymous and peaceful as a
and the forest opens
welcomes me with open boughs
into a stillness pregnant with mystery
into the murmur of secrets
bubbling of the brook
twisting a star-studded cradle
I am the child at the alter
I sit at the foot of God
pressed, breathing, listening,
against the body of an ancient oak
to the same song that can be heard
in the roar of a single seashell.
This is a world than can only be reached
And loneliness is;
and painful and
and sometimes I
I feel like a newborn child
into the white hot ashes of creation.