I walk, the heavy trod of years and flesh and pumping blood, toward the act of dawn,
Door swings wide, open, hinged on unspoken sorrow.
Longing for birdsong and dew, for sun-spray and breeze, for life.
Not to possess, but to become,
To stretch wide, beyond frail mortal encumbrances
And breathe- breath of salt air and mountain, of desert and plain.
In that early waking hour, when dawn whispers across wide horizons,
a remembering stirs,
And I yearn to cast off the petty trappings of self,
It wakes me in the night and
leaves me sweating and restless, hungry for a lover's warm caress.
The dawn bends her noble head, tenderly kissing mountain, streetlight, chimney, treetop.
A jealous ache, a frantic wish to merge.
And then I chuckle.
When smallness believed the world was flat, it danced in spherical splendor across a wide cosmos.
When sun spun round the earth in heavy books, the universe staid it's course.
When I stare out with unlooking eyes and long to shed my isolation,
God breathes through every atom, in every space
with undaunted wholeness.