How secretly the bones move
under the skin
and the veins thread their way
through their forests, the trees
of bones, the mosses of cells,
the muscle vines.
How privately the ears
tune themselves to music heard
only in the echoing cave of the head.
And the tongue in its grotto tests
the bitterness of unripe fruit, and wine,
the mouth feel of honey
in the comb. How cunningly our shadows
follow us as we walk.
And our breath, how it moves in
and out without great thought.
Even rain, which needs no summons from us
but flows, a gift from heaven,
as the grasses rise greenly, shivering.
Just so, beauty besieges us
unannounced, invading us, saving our souls.
So it is with the spirit.
