Awash, we be, in mystery, in sacrament,
Every sight both revelatory and numinous,
Every photon paints canvases on corneas,
Every glimpse ekes a tad of the luminous.
There, those very leaves in gentle sway,
Bespeak presence past and continuous.
See.
Gently fingertips feel endless textures,
Every crease — both tactile and treasure,
Every surface teases endless receptors.
This, the language of pain and of pleasure,
There, romance caresses a flushing cheek,
Revering body and spirit in equal measure.
Feel.
Birdsong or baroque warble ear bones,
Every wave both euphoric and melancholy,
Every pitch agitates air and souls alike.
The stuff of wind is both Spirit and holy.
There, a bard attends to a feathery muse,
A melody of love, life, and youthful folly.
Hear.
Salty, sour, umami, and every sweetness,
Every savor both chemistry and charity.
Flavors form friendships with kin and stranger,
Every meal a place for bonds and for levity.
There, lips and tongue squint eyes and face,
As taste drops the veil for a moment of clarity.
Savor.
As every breath inhales endless exhales,
As endless stories echo upon the breeze,
Our narratives, joys and tears ever enmesh,
As the stuff of our lives in perpetual reprise.
There, my heart breaks in the morning light,
The cost of the angel and the man ill-at-ease.
Muse.
Awash we be, in beauty, in sacrament.
