None the Less

Prostrate, thumbs hooked,
Teeth cradling my tongue,
A billowing sage and cedar satchel
Rests in my palms. Staring down the barrel,
Bathed in indigo wisps, my silent prayers
Are carried by this musky, spicy, rolling stream.
Facing North, pale, under New Moon –
I am guided to see: being human means
I am both the potter and the clay.
Uniquely situated to dance
The space between form and substance.
For a few exquisitely triumphant and tentative moments,
“I” am the nexus of matter and energy.
“You” are none the less.
And, in spite of our abhorrent filth and greed,
We still can find at least
7 billion ways to unleash the power of love,
And solace in a quiet place to breathe.