if we rise

In rebirth, touching feet to frozen ground

you watch the world begin again as one.

Encased in amber, raise your hands to touch

the petal-pink and golden hues of dawn.

You and the sun, on tiptoes, reaching up.

In newness, in warmth: this is where we start.

With birdsong all the earthly things will start

to rise, to crawl, to climb to higher ground.

You must remember, now, to breathe: in, one;

Out, two, and she will soothe you with a touch.

On the fourth day—Sun, calling in the dawn.

The stars depart; they know their time is up.

Her fingers on your cheek, they travel up

the walls, around, above, across and start

to cast their shadows on the ground.

Gentle hands, gentle echoes of the one

that came before still here, a phantom touch.

Remember: this is not yesterday’s dawn.

This Sun is new, familiar, a dawn

that opens your eyes, calls you back up

to the world—shout, I am here, you can start.

From weightless dreams to morning’s solid ground

You heed her call, and this day is the one:

Anything, everything, yours to touch.

And are there things that she will never touch?

Darkened, in hiding, sheltered from the dawn,

praying their blackened sky will open up

so a new life, in light, may finally start?

Now hear them, burrowed deep beneath the ground:

In shadow, singing her praises as one.

Beginning once more, this is the first one.

The first day, the last day, the day you touch

her hand to yours; a new life, a new dawn.

Go to her now—she will welcome you up

to the end, to the middle, to the start.

Awaken now, and stand on solid ground.

Longing, loving, the earth will open up

for you, for her, the sweetness of your touch

and her rays of light, warm upon the ground.