Dust for flesh.
A rib bone
for a companion.
Forbidden fruit
for holiness lost,
knowledge gained.
Flesh with flesh,
new life.
Seed to soil,
provision.
Sprouts to wheat.
Toil for harvest,
bread.
Blooms for pollen.
bread.
Blooms for pollen.
Bees for honey.
Bread for breaking.
Wood for carving.
Table.
Moon rise
for sun up.
Winter for rest.
Frost for dew.
Spring for planting.
Youth for age.
Long stories told,
for memory's keeping.
Children running.
Chickens scratching.
Old bones rattling.
Birth for death.
Close the door.
Summon a chair.
Sit.
Tell.
Listen.
Laugh.
Cry.
Eat.
Flesh for dust.
Rain for earth.
There is holiness still.
Beholden.
From dust we come and to dusk we return. The breaths we take in between are precious and holy. Thank you, my wordsmith friend, for this powerful reminder. I will drink a toast of warm milk and honey to our sacred human story.
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