Cathedral
My cathedral of soft walls,
creation, a sacrament taken
with no words from a hymnal
or sermon to convince.
Just the whispering of wind,
the whistle of a duck,
the sip of the swallow and
the splash of spoonbill
is the unpracticed choir
that moves my soul.
The willow and I dip thirsty
straws to the depths of this sacred place,
longing to be quenched by
the spring of dreams.
This membrane thin between
earth and heaven, is where I am.
My offering to such can only be
to breathe, write and proclaim.
* Creation is a true place of worship
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