We are the present explorers,
tracking our way home with
our earth instincts, whittled
as walking sticks
Limping and bloodied,
we display like badges
our scars of skirmish.
Newborns to ourselves.
Bless you, brokenness.
Wizened wise ones arise
from primal forest, singing
the lore of porcupines and bears;
conjuring soothing salves
with burdock and hyssop, to splice
mercy into our savaged spirits
We open our closed fists to grace
Sturdy scars seal our scratches and gashes,
steady our steps
over heartbreaking hills, through
valleys of sighs; into the sun.
Eyes come alive;
light knits new skin,
tucks our sorrows in.
Sage eternal way-shower, may you
illuminate the mighty love
that shelters our suffering.
Knead cedar mulch into our flesh;
weave willow wands of wisdom;
Sow fields sweet-scented with wonder.
Grow generative gardens for all beings.