Just wait.
It will happen soon,
just like this:

Branches untether the
rising moon—
unmoored, unselfed, I come
to know its quartz
otherworld.

Tree song, water song,
owl song
and all God's other voices:
the soundtrack to our
true being.

Yes, it looks like pain,
this stumble between
birth and death,
but what I chose, actually,
was full immersion
in deep living, and
what is better
than what is real
if it leads to
this rising?

Below
various skies and moons
stroll on the water,
pondering something,
perhaps notions
like these.

Keep me here, mirror
of endlessness and fire.

I keep vanishing into
the illusion, but
I'm back
and I'm staying this time
in the fever of a joy
I still don't understand;
I only know
love is possible,
and enough.

And so I'll sit,
star-laden and night-hazed—
the view from here
dripping with dreams
and a few things real
under so many promises,
within a galaxy that
sees God.


Patricia Joan Jones