Will your cravings ever leave you,
lifting like a startled flock
from your naked limbs?
Will your mind finally come to rest,
one ordinary morning?
What might you hear in the sheer silence?
Your heartbeat –
and the squirrel’s,
the secret language of the garden,
what the earthworms say to the roots.
You were waiting for the voice of God,
and here in the cave of your heart
is the alleluia of the blackberry
at the moment it plumps into perfect ripeness
and the Deo gratias of the squirrel
as it plucks the berry from the vine.
Attune your breath to the cedar’s sigh
and rise from your cushion now
before the diamond dewdrops
on the sourgrass dry.
2 thoughts on “The Murmurings of Roots”
Thank you, Mary. Another great lyrical assemblage.