Foxfire
God is my secret; he knows I'm his girl. You don't
know what he's like. Sometimes he licks my face
like a cat lapping cream. I almost caught him once,
but he disappeared down the bole of an oak.
I know he loves me because he gives me presents.
I found a bottle cap once, Red Fox Root Beer,
on the path I take through the aspens. You've never
seen it in a store, have you? A sign clear as candy.
And a bar of soap by a bend in the river, scented
with Rome apples and never used. I bathed with it
for a month, my evening prayer, till it was gone:
God wants his gifts used. The suds down my leg
like apple blossoms on a branch in the dark.
You say he's not real? As soon tell a mother
the child's not real that suckles at her breast.
I stayed with him all night when he had a fever,
fed him shards of ice to keep him alive, and when
I had no water, I cooled him with my own spit
till I couldn't swallow. Who are you to judge?
Come out and you might see something--foxfire
from the root of a fallen cedar--he's mine.
--Robert Thomas

Tags:   bonsai poetry favorite poems God Divine Beloved painterly grace love paradox discovery favorite poem Monroe mystery nothing is not you tenderness foxfire here favorite tree somber beauty at Dad's house botanical contemplative dark yearning conversion longing 2007

© All Rights Reserved

Tags:   bonsai tree conifer deer creaturely bark wood Monastery of the Holy Spirit Bonsai by the Monastery favorite monochrome texture circle enso this January 2012 contemplative prayer retreat

© All Rights Reserved

Tags:   bonsai at Dad's house tree Monroe Walton County

© All Rights Reserved

Tags:   blue deep roots root system digital play bonsai tree painterly 2013 contemplative call retreat

© All Rights Reserved

Tags:   bonsai dark roots at Dad's house Monroe summertime June

© All Rights Reserved