When they ask to see your gods,your book of prayers
show them lines drawn delicately with veins
on the underside of a bird's wing,
Tell them you believe in giant sycamores mottled
and stark against a winter sky,
and in nights so frozen,
stars crack open
spilling streams of molten ice to earth.
And tell them how you drink
a holy wine of honeysuckle
on a warm spring day
and of the softness
of your mother who never taught you
death was life's reward
but who believed in the earth
and the sun
and a million, million light years
of being
on the underside of a bird's wing,
Tell them you believe in giant sycamores mottled
and stark against a winter sky,
and in nights so frozen,
stars crack open
spilling streams of molten ice to earth.
And tell them how you drink
a holy wine of honeysuckle
on a warm spring day
and of the softness
of your mother who never taught you
death was life's reward
but who believed in the earth
and the sun
and a million, million light years
of being
J.L.Stanley
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