Being the Vessel

On the broadest sky, in the bluest tempera of ocean,
I envision a wooded hiker’s trail leading to my heart
Opening the wind to the sweet touch of summer
Like the fine grain of oak in the sparkle of my hand

Where this path creates a place inside my dreams
And I am transformed, an image, a man
Of alloy and cloth placed on a field of greenery,
Lined with cedars for truth and lilies for compassion so

That hill after hill, the mountains speak in chapters,
The pungent grace of memories fill me with
Aromatic strength finally released from the sky,
Returned to me with the capstone of my home laid down

Just like the Spring and I am melting, melting
Flow from ice to the arctic camber seen only by the
Sun and the night all too high for any season tempest,
Firey lacquered stations to the arbor from my mind

 
 © K. James Ribble