Poetry Menu

I Come to You

Your eyes, the milky white of skies;

Beloved trees; above them flies,

An eagle, soaring in the wind;

Through space and time

Beyond the bend.

In distance, high, the maker sings,

In waters, deep, the making keeps;

A circle with concentric rings;

A ripple in the tea that steeps

The wisdom which it brings.

Stories of another place,

Smiles on the maker’s face;

Sweet and soft, she slowly walks,

With tears of ancient grace.

She comes to me now,

Filled with the anger of a thousand years;

Fills my cup with holy water,

Mother, sister, father, daughter;

Looks into the eyes of hope.

I love her deeply, love her true,

The me inside the core of you;

Into threads where journey ends,

Beyond entering and through,

I come to you, again.

I come to you.