Is there a code of seeing
what is or is not present?
This tree by Colman’s well
melted into its heartspace.
This coil of life in its own soil,
making its truest stand,
in its true place becoming itself.
Is it the light or is it the stone
the contours of the land its limbs follow
the sinew of moulded rock cleaving the valley
mirroring the arch of its salient life
the visible made invisible
the emerged merged in its world.
Up close the tree
is a reflection of the land it looks upon,
arching over those who have walked
millennium through millennium,
to tie threads and flame ribbons
to the ochre stems of winter fuchsia,
handmaid to the well stone.
One life listening to the whispered
admonitions of penitent selves,
to their ash-knotted, and leaf- blooming supplications.
This life in true regard of its true position,
at one with place as any one thing can be,
in place to home and home to heartsource both.
