a grace of cedars

January Bluebird

Take my hand
lets walk the soft path
under the old cedar trees

They are sacred, these mages, these venerable timbers,
hallowed by the desert mothers
and tiny finches dancing in their boughs
and pale angels who sing with them at dawn.

Ancient and holy, they accept your shallow breathing
and extend their grace to you
in emanation, ripe with incense.

Breathe deeply this exhalation, this glory,
as these solstice trees inhale your breath.
An offering, an honor, an acceptance,
a giving and a receiving
until your blood flows
with a resinous scent
purified by the synchronicity of spirit,
a grace of cedars.

dove

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s