in the nest of our roots there is a tree; quite golden
with an elixir of magic housed within
you may know it in the stillness
when the silence illuminates the darkness or the light digs even deeper.
you may find it nestled
or sprinkled in golddust
some feel it as a liquid a gold fluid opiate
unsatiable; unsatiated
we have a quench for this thirst in nature
when the bough calls the key is returned to the owner
careful you will be listening; not on high alert but centred
aware that you are listening
listening to be heard
you will not creep though you will be known
your hand will pave the way like a tree carved out in bark that fits your palm and only that
you were made for Him like that
the cloak fits
you are embalmed
and you will be carried to beyond
not so much the why what wherein of it all
not the how
but the call within to it all
knowing it is there
it always was
there is a map
etched in heart and skin with nails that cannot pierce but aline and trace and follow and enripen the truest of fruit
this tree
the root
the golden
i believe they call it nectar
x x x
image: Dominik Bednarz
