Kindred

Art is my religion, my cathedral among the trees

Kindred to the Willow as I pass beneath her swinging leaves

To her I say a greeting and she again greets me.

Do you remember me she asked, we met through the iris lens.

You sat with him and them on into the evenings deep,

You gazed up at me as the river bends.

Yes I remember you & I remember the breeze,

The moon, she was full I believe

It was to you I prayed in the moons full bloom

As the trade winds touched your leaves.

Art is my religion my cathedral among the trees.

I assign a gender to my beloved Willow,

I call the Willow She.

Perhaps it is the grace of her fingers, her branches

And her leaves as they sway in the breeze

Like billowing hair in plaits braids or dreads perhaps.

Kindred to the Willow tree, the Willow She speaks to me

Do you remember me? She asked again.

We first met as your tiny hands reached up to touch my swaying leaves

Yes I uttered I remember you, as I passed into your magical green hues

I remember as your swaying leaves reached down to touch me.

It was then that art became my religion my cathedral among the trees

The scent of your green soothed my breath as the velvet of your leaves

Caressed. Your sweet redemption a blessing sheltered beneath your

Sway my voice cried up to the heavens in the shade of a burning day,

As the river stream beneath my feet carried the pain away.

Art is my religion my cathedral among the trees

Kindred to the Willow, Willow she tells me

All is well,

All is well, all is well and as it should be

Kindred to the Willow tree,

Willow remembers me.

©️Pamella Allen 2014