Thou art a quiet storm on her gorgeous sea,
silently moving between the earth and her core,
between understanding everything and nothing.

I fell into thy arms and discovered that which made no sense,
that which I could not see.
Thy lulled me back aground from my lofty assumptions.

I wrestled night and day in fear of day and night.
I fought a gale, I cut it's strings and she moved across the water.
She set adrift and returned a quiet peace, a calm forgiveness.

Thou art of fury and female, of shards and knives, arsenic and apples.
I am taken through morning and then back to night.
But all of this, all of this...my love for thee.

This is my prayer to thee, my loyalty to thee.
Stay that I could drink from thy well until I mourn my thirst
Be still that I might count the strands of thy fabric.

Speak that I might ascribe the tones of thy voice
Sing that I might dissolve into the love of thy preciousness.
Give me life that every moment may be a record of thy goodness.

And with this I end in a garden of death and awe
in this time of pain and peace.
I love thee, I've always loved thee.

Give to the earth my body that she might light up the stars with the root my love.
I am but myself. I am a host of angels, a watcher of earth. I am but myself.

J M Prater