Back where I Belong

Take me back, mother. Take me to the garden of promise. The ending of ash and sackcloth Evaporates in Eden’s background. Let me be pure. Let me wash my hands-- From the furthest pockets of each mountain spring. Take me back so I can be naked-- As the moon rises and breaks the dark silence. Take my impurities back. Let the rain wash the accumulation of emotional plaque. Let it cradle me and swaddle me-- Tenderness and alkaline smells. Let the first truth be marked across my chest. Let it be Visible as a proud sequoia Kisses the sky in early April. Let me be one again-- And Let me breathe in and out Of of all the encroaching spaces.