Prayer

This mushroom bloom of bliss
the sky’s moon-bold breeze-free
and all those bones beneath
the stones begin to kiss.

We’re not afraid to drown
into the rasp of rain
into the wave to clasp
a river’s swirling crown.

Beneath the mother tree
seeding a leafy prayer
and all our skins bead blue
in tattoos of filigree.

Consume an ancient brew
to bind in keening whisper
to climb above the dell
and all with moon-eyes flew.

Beyond the water’s verse
that dance of bone with stone
that flutter of bold leaf
embrace our wanting thirst.

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Phil Wood works in a statistics office. He enjoys working with numbers and words. Published work can be found in various publications including: Clear Poetry, London Grip, The Lampeter Review, The Black Sheep Journal, The Open Mouse.