The waterfall’s
rush
rocks me
like a child
asleep
in his
mother’s lap.
I always
find her
in the flow
of waves
and rivers:
the holy mother
and her open
arms.
I’ve called her
by ten thousand
names:
O Gaia
Brigid
Mary
Kwan Yin
Shakti.
But my
heart knows
each name
is a cupped hand
trying to hold
the ocean.
I’d rather dive
into her depths,
breathe within
her beauty,
let her soften
my rough edges
like these stones
worn smooth
by her kiss.
O Mother,
guide me
like you guide
the rivers
to the sea,
hold me
like roots
as I rise
from your soil,
show me
how to give
as you give:
freely,
with open arms,
to all the children
of this earth.