Made of Morning, Bound to Earth

Good morning!

I rise like smoke from the heart of the world, carried by fire, kissed by light. The sky yawns open above me, blue as a promise,

and every bird is a bell rung in praise of breath.

I walk out barefoot into the dew,

where the grass hums soft hymns to the soles of my feet.

My arms are wings, my heart a drum,

beating the rhythm of all things that wake.

This day — this! — is no echo of yesterday, but a flame struck fresh on the wall of now. It is bread still warm from the oven,

a secret passed hand to hand with joy.

It is the cry of the hawk carving silence,

the gleam of sweat on a worker’s brow,

the hush between words when love is about to be spoken.

O friends, O wanderers, come!

Fling open your shutters and open your hearts! Let the world spill in — sharp and wild and full of teeth —

and let it kiss you honest.

Let your laughter be loud enough to scare the ghosts,

your sorrows deep enough to feed the trees.

Let every step you take be an answer

to the question life keeps asking with open hands.

I kneel at no altar but this earth,

mud-smeared and miracle-stained.

I give thanks for the blister, the thunder, the rain,

for the howl in the woods and the warm kitchen light.