Campsite: A Morning Benediction

Rise, you steam from pottery-mug of dark roast,

curl your other-world whispers up and away.

 

Shine, you golden-fingers of sunlight,

forge your fractured path through the labyrinth-forest

and dew-drop-mirrors.

 

Dance, you moths or flies or nymphs,

whatever your magic is,

sprinkle joy in in the morning-air like cloud-confetti.

 

Play on, you liquid-symphony-stream,

raise your rushing flurry of applause, confident and

ceaseless.

 

Tease on, you fuzzy acrobat-squirrels,

cluck and chirp and rattle us in your mockery of ducks and birds and snakes,

safe in the playground of secret-branches.

 

Testify, you living-mosaic of God,

blanketing me under a glory-quilt,

breathing into all my senses,

reminding me of your indisputable Presence.

 

 

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