Let Me this Morning

Let me channel starlight,
be a vessel for the soul,
for the sound of your voice

bubbling through the morning,
for the notes that bounce
off the walls in my mind,

tickle the day awake, and
jump to the robin
outside the window,

let me funnel your words
as they slip through my voice
and speak through me in

this predawn meditation,
this shamanistic dance of fingers
casting runes on the page,

these images that are the
ghosts of our forebears and
the seeds of our our future,

let me learn how to love
the rivers I cannot see
that run underground in all of us,

that sing of mysteries
in notes not heard by the ears,
let me be awakened to the

knowings that fill our souls,
let me bow before the reality
of you and of me and of

the bent grass stalks sleeping
in winter's sun, let the joy
that is our birthright flood me

on this grayed morning
stippled with the coming light,
let me scream awake in

wonder and awe and be
swept away on waves of love,
let me just smile and

say good morning as you pad
barefoot into the room and give
you the hug I would give the sun.

© Zen Oleary
December 8, 2003