Photo by Gamaliel Masters
You prune, bud, flower and fruit me touch, wound open, what is closed: dark tendrils grow me into you. Not alone, but we all run you to the end burn with your peace heavy with your ripeness hid in crannied wall. You suckle us, each and every: milk-wine sets our minds to rest living water sings my mouth its song. Not alone, but we all turn to you, unclothed of cloth dance your light, and, oh, so tender embrace. You rest us merry tuck time away shine my face with yours kiss me with the kisses of your lips my breath fragrant with you. What you do, delights your heart you delight in us; and we, in you. My emptiness you fill with your fullness rooms without end, you sweep clean, make ready you remember us, one by one membered into you your seed sprouts our life. So it is, so it is.