Wild Cathedrals

 

Light-eating spirits,

flora are ancestral forces.

Photosynthesizing,

they make divinity

visible to our blunt human sight:

 

Beech trees open their

copper arms

touch hair

greet and bless.

Silvery glade ferns bow,

exude antediluvian perfume.

Curling grapevine tendrils swing

in the wind of our passing.

 

The central flame,

the green light, rooted

ever-rising

is the mitochondrial matrix.

Its combustive heat

fed by pacifist chloroplasts

turns stardust into flesh:

 

Damsel-fly snaps open

peacock green wings

she is an elegant

kabuki dancer

suspended in flight

above the creek.

Bear cub strolls the path

a granddaughter walked last eve.

Coyote’s signature is written in

morning’s creek-side mud. 

 

 The still point

~ empty core of life’s axis ~

is the central beam

of wild cathedrals.

It holds up the night sky

to become evening’s

intimate roof

 

the only dome

vast enough to carry

human dreams.