this body, <br />merely the cleft of the rock, <br />where the wind stops to sleep <br />on the long journey back to god. <br /> <br />returning, <br />what we do at our best, <br />in spite of and because of... <br />the footfalls of angels, <br /> <br />the beat of our hearts. <br />the grinding of our souls, <br />the stranger builds a fire. <br />and starts a soup, <br /> <br />with the wings of bats and owls, <br />whistling up clouds that bathe in moonlight. <br />the dew soft falls as childrens' prayers, <br />on the webbed ears of god, <br /> <br />hanging from that same rock! <br />and the wind embraces <br />that which cannot remain, <br />which never was... <br /> <br />and always will be, <br />the scar and the bruise!<br /><br />Eric Cockrell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-body-always-will-be/
