All This Wild

I thread twilight through outstretched fingers,

let it bleed into scar-subdued palms.

Brush stroke me tawny cobalt and gold dusk

and I'll swallow the sky -

Like an owl in silent flight, I fold this map of stars,

teach them to sing your name,

to press constellations to your lips

and kiss a universe newly born.

I beckon to the wild geese on the lake,

a request for feathers to make my quill -

with it I'll write poems on the water's skin

to ripple infinity between the reeds and stanzas -

I gather their flight in my lungs

and sing their hymn of wildness.

The earth hums in harmony -

a memory of things ancient

recalled from slumber and dust

to remember a sacred home

among all this wild.