Dream of the Rood
I dreamt I talked with a telephone pole,
an orb, the sun, behind it, radiant;
its cross-arm and wires intertwined my soul;
galactic pulses, flashing, luminant.
Could crafted wood and metal enter hearts
estranged from Mother Earth's galactic beats?
Communicate with worms, with insect parts?
So many pathogens pollute her teats,
us human beings, ev'ry animal
she nourishes to try to neutralize
the toxins, feeding food alchemical
to maggots, hugging bugs to sanitize.
My dream became a golden Celtic cross
embracing me and purging all my dross.
I dreamt I talked with a telephone pole,
an orb, the sun, behind it, radiant;
its cross-arm and wires intertwined my soul;
galactic pulses, flashing, luminant.
Could crafted wood and metal enter hearts
estranged from Mother Earth's galactic beats?
Communicate with worms, with insect parts?
So many pathogens pollute her teats,
us human beings, ev'ry animal
she nourishes to try to neutralize
the toxins, feeding food alchemical
to maggots, hugging bugs to sanitize.
My dream became a golden Celtic cross
embracing me and purging all my dross.