A twirling stair
is in the tree
I see what I
cannot see
I am taken down,
and downward, more
As though I was
heard in the awakening deep
In the roots of
me in the golden tree
The puzzle below, in long lines of weighted texts
Never fully
fathomed
Was forming
beneath in patterned structures
The root of all
things . . .
As many wisdom lines
below
As there were
knowledge strands above
Those that keep
the upper part alive
Standing below
unseen . . .
That I see no
base to what I stand on
Other than Love;
invisible and plain . . .
Just as I cannot
see beneath the ground
The roots of the tree, but know they
are there:
LIFE . . . it
was all in believing:
And my branches watered!
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