Lines of Eight

Newness raised living found

And where I belong

Begins again the gifted trail

The throwing of straw for wheat

And loss for gain

Underneath

Eight were left me

I saw the land clearer, clear

The embracing fold it was always there

I never left it, nor was I ever apart from it

Dedicated the Presence to preserve and compass

And underneath

Eight little jewels were left me . . .

Liveliness rose spilling found

And where I hear

Rises again the flowing through

The exchanging of dust for gold

And gloom for starlight

Underneath

Eight were left me

I found the place nearer, near

The compassing hold it was always there

I never was separated from it, or ever away

The joining as water with water   

And above

Eight little streams were left me . . .

                        *

Anastasian surge-lets centering life

Enfolding abundance that resurrects

And there, tiny new truths are left me!

If, in new life’s raisings, razing

Lively little streams were ever newly forming!