The land has many spirits. <br />They see us; they know us, <br />better than we know ourselves. <br /> <br />If I see myself through the eyes of Earth, <br />I will lie still, and spend my last sigh <br />as a wind drifting through white pines. <br /> <br />In this early morning, when sleep hovers <br />like so much smoke in corners of my rooms, <br />dreams are left to stir and breathe in my hands. <br /> <br />I choose the dreams I will keep today. <br />I dream to see myself, know myself as <br />polished seeds, moist and fertile in the land. <br /> <br />I am laughter breaking brittle in yellow sunlight, <br />a slow tongue kiss on the open mouth of love. <br />I am warm tears to wash away dusts of memory. <br /> <br />When sleep comes to rest heavy on my eyelids, <br />and the last wind dies silent in old trees, <br />I dream to touch the face of God, and he smiles. <br /> <br /> <br />© 2009<br /><br />Shirley Alexander<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tricking-the-reaper/
