Anointed with dew and sage, we step
into the uncreated world.

Dark water, flowing far below the ridge,
when full of light becomes light.

We descend.

The skree holds our passing shapes
only a moment.

Reeds bend in the wind.
We strain to hear the hidden voice.

Our hubric bodies part the rushing veil
on unsteady feet.

Bull-nosed and gleaming, the spirit hovers
under the face of the water.

We lay down
the thin lines of our prayers

waiting to be taken into the mouth of God.

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