Now I have laid bare,
Taken your medicine
In the white foam
Of your thundering river
Now I have become You
Now I have been blessed
Now replenished I go

Into the unknown
On my way home
On my way home.


If my being were as a tree
I should become wind music
Playing through my waiting leaves

I would be past worrying about peace
Rooted in a more firm reality

My endless habitat of sky and earth
Would feed my soul
Would fill me with green dreams
Slowly climbing, silently teaching.


Khabira's Blog
Ziraat: Kayak Journals 
Speak for Salmon: Poetry by Candace E. Holt 
Ziraat and Global Challenges 
Hymns to the Earth Spirits