Giving Voice

A response to a beautiful evening of Rogan Wolf's poetry.

Shell beholding

Start at the fine point of the spiral and loosen

Wind out generously 

Wide ripple splashes of

White 

Blues

Pink

The subtle sketch of expanding circles never meet their end 

Connected by fine perpendicular lines

Close

Pause at a small hole

Linger at the light

Note the crack in the shell

A dark draft of a faultline

Forming a precarious triangle

Snail house

Bone around flesh

Sludge hut 

Slow moving earth wisdom

Praise the fractal dance

and genius of your growth

Praise your brittle strength

This hard cool shell

Praise your pink and blues

Your faded color

Ages in sun

Aged by time

Praise your thisness

Your jiving particles

Alleluia atoms

Carbon combination I praise the many

places that made you

Praise where you are going

How long have our shells been left cracked 

and empty

beaten by the sun?

This shell left empty a long time back

Or so I thought 

until I looked in its cream swirl cave

Where a tiny grub slug was hanging on

A few years back

I was barely alive 

Inside the battered home on my back

In you I am coiled

I am spiral beauty

I crawl under God

The healing word 

Makes reality my home

A sheltered heart flowers 

Streams

Whirls slow

yet sure

The morning you wake up into

If you are fretting 

over going the best way

The right way even

And impeded by your efforts 

Perhaps

Just go 

A way

Follow instincts from a calmer place

Trust

Now, is where God is waiting

Where you are 

Might even become The Way

As you live it

Night in

Through the

open window 

Mice like

Lamped up

Low light

Heaped up

Hay

Layed in loft

Owl like

Wood beams

Gentle chatter 

Pitter patter 

of rain

and paw print

Natural dreaming

Slumbering together 

Relaxing

Outwardly still, inwardly slowing 

looking on

Grateful for imagination

Reality alive in my minds eye.

The trees are standing pillars of water 

And cars moving fires 

Birds - mostly wind 

Fish - wet miracles 

who swim in rivers that are alive

Stars? 

Holes in the knotted coherence of things

like humans maybe

My friend called us all Sentient Meat 

As we looked on at the airport

I loved it, for the scale of the thought

I laughed out loud

The laughter was real

but the phrase a bit hollow

Felt like a downgrade of our bodies grace

A forgetting of the spirits flame at our core

I was told G K said

'The angels can fly because they take

themselves lightly'

Like the birds, who own nothing

I sense yet cannot express the relevance 

Not with any elegance 

Though, let us remember we are human

amongst all the fun.

Someone summed up Jesus with one word

'relaxed'

Which could just be the human version of

light