Would you wake up your soul?
Walk then somewhere, anywhere,
through a field, over a hill,
down a lane,
and touch the sky with your fingers...
Then turn to complement the roses
for their dresses,
and the way they watch the ocean
all day with patience,
and how they love the summer garden's
starry skies
when they, in black dresses,
drift in dreams of fragrance.
You are waking up to seek your soul
that hides somewhere in happiness,
(a secret poet in an unpoetic age),
that dips its naked body
in pure colors and hides
in every color of the day;
that paints itself black,
like the Christ child's skin,
and runs wild and sacred in the night;
that, gray-eyed and innocent,
looks quietly upon you
in morning's light
waiting for you to sing
until all your sorrows are sung away
and you lean against a wall
and laugh at bird song,
and laugh at your hands and feet...
and laugh at children laughing,
and laugh at lover's awkward loving,
until your knees are buckling
as your soul slips through
your laughter
and makes you.