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
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
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.