John I. Blair
For too much time I felt immured,
Inside, isolate, ignorant, cloaked.
I craved to seek a purification,
To invent, invoke, recite, repeat
A body-based renewal rite.
So early this morning, dressed in shorts,
Chest bare, flip-flops on my feet,
I rushed into my garden, my shrine.
Cool, damp air caressed my skin,
Grass stems brushed my questing toes,
Sweet blossoms blessed my eager nose.
I said I went to feed the birds,
Wrens and sparrows, cooing doves,
And gather flowers for my darling;
But my underground agenda there
Was to reassure my doubting heart
I could still breathe and touch and love.
©2004 John I. Blair
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