Sometimes, when I’m drunk on the madness of poetry,
when the breath of the Triple Goddess fills me,
I wake to the holiness of the world.
And I just stand there waiting;
waiting for that moment of ripeness
that I’m sure is about to unfurl.
And then it does.
And when it does,
it’s so simple, so miraculous, so ordinary,
that it goes beyond mere words, beyond ideas.
And I rejoice.
Even as somewhere an owl begins its silent descent,
my soul rises with the world.
