Launching into the blackest night
my body drops away, I take flight
and soar through stories & and tales
of who’s fabrication I cannot tell and
still I soar, then alight at the edge of
my bed just before dawn's light, weighted
with the whole of me, losing hold of
where I’ve been and what I’d seen…
My chair sits midst the lawn, my feet
naked against the silky slips of grass,
toes dozing letting the earth cradle them,
and be found to be a part of that sacred ground.
Earth, enter my feet, take away pain
that keeps me from sleep.
Walking in the middle of the street,
the day’s heat is held back behind
the bank of pecan & cottonwood trees.
There is a breeze that kisses my brow,
brings a hum to my lips, and my eyes
linger on the long-limbed mimosa
flowers swaying above the creek.
—Martha Ward
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