Four Seasons

I am stuck in surrender and release as
I send my striving out to sea,
let the tide carry my need to be comfortable and steady,
the knowing,
the holding on when I have already lost my grasp.
To the North, moving into the beauty of the storm,
the way is steep and silky rocks threaten,
enter if you dare.
I am in a remnant of an ancestral dream,
perpetual mist,
the body knows.
The wind blows through the earth,
woody scents,
stings my face,
opens portals beyond my time-weary world.
The words shimmer, and beckon, and I follow.
Finally, the water is at my back and the fire pit is ready;
the resistance yields.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019


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