In the bog I lay
Sinking deeper into sludge
Wrapped in silt and mud
Dampened by these roots and reeds
Birds on rushes singing dirge
A heron standing vigil on the shore
I sing I scream no longer
Muted underwater
Dragonflies dancing in the air
Above me darting daring
And deeper dreaming me
Opens eyes which cannot see
I’m made of clay and squirming things
Becoming grass and greener springs
Returned to source and sourceless born
Alive and dead and
Dead alive
My spirit mired in weighted worries
Sending up a single shoot
Without the mud no blooming blossomed
This concentrated beauty bridging
Otherworld and worldly others
Unfolded petals worshipping the sun
Floating on serenity and calm
I was undone
Shaped and molded
Celestial bonded
Seeking heaven
Rising from this shrouded wetland
Just to hold your hand
Just to hold your hand
