The Visitation

There has been a visitation here;

what creature’s tracks of forefoot and rear

are present, signed their name into the sand?

What perfect pressure of heel pad or tiny hand

has loped or softly crawled or slithered,

out of skins of other lifetimes withered?

Into places that I cannot go, they go:

the spirits of the world in fur,

my familiars of the Maker– Her

imprint kissed the quiet ground

for hominids like me to know;

perceiving shapes and hearing sound,

a story of the living world below.

 

 

 

Image © Gentle J. Pine. All rights reserved.

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