1.
Vox Humana.
This is the human voice sailing
rising up in trembling echoes to dash against sky, rock and lake in graceful curves.
This is the arc of beautifying. That broadness within that comes
with letting go and reaching out.
There is expansion here, like the push and pull of lungs, the testing of space, the fullness of time.
With the rising of the sun, and the going down of the same, the unfurling of soulscape
the whispering of a Holy Name.
2.
All around me, hands are casting stars.
The water is burning.
My voice has foundered.
3.
Praise is the silent dip of a paddle in water
navigation by starlight and aurora
the spin of a compass needle
the prickle of night sky on skin
cold hands in a sleet storm
gripping gunwales with white fingers
that deep bed of moss I called home.
I am birch, peeling on the surface, and jack pine (the only release is fire).
I am stabbed with ice.
4.
Why use words when a careful trill in sweet, melodic intervals heaves with truth.
When the ice breaks up,
will you sing me home?
I could rest
forever.
