Journey

This soul of my good earth
how crunched mathematically it is
into substance
and spread by spin-drifts and windfalls
seeds of replication
each one inimitable and matchless
a replicant of eternal change.
Genetically encoded into holiness.

My dress formal for each climate
and naked enough to be adapted
into shifts of consciousness.
A desiring lust to be a thorn for my own flesh
and to define this journey
through every atom of God.

I pace myself into light.
I run ahead
of the mill and confusion of time.
I plant my prayer loudly
with an ever deepening silence.
I honour this soul of my good earth
and think it not strange
that my spirit drips passion
or that I walk upright in my sinews
as fearless
as any dragon unleashed.