Stand quietly at years end,
witnessing the dance
of emptying
the body
to stillness.
The stillpoint of winter.
The moment
after the out breath
and receding of tide,
when sap’s gone inward,
deep as marrow.
When dreamtime is arising
hope — delicate as sapling
and small seed planted at dusk —
whispers this prayer
in urgent tones:
“Touch all obstructions;
witness the layers
that deaden and dark;
unfold and unfurl
this tender path of heart.”
On hearing this incantation
we begin
to turn,
releasing the old year,
sighing out the bones.
And empty with longing,
discover we’ve rooted over night.
Homecoming greets us,
effortless and easy
as the dawn’s arrival.
Eyes open
softly
to the morning light.
New moon
heart song.
Silver seeds
planted at winter solstice.
Mari Joyce 2019 ©
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