Keening

There is something in

My blood keening

Something in my soul

Reaching for that

Meaning that reaches

Down from the

Heaven's gyre a

Great finger of

Power and belonging

And knowing what

My Place is.

It would bring me

To my roots, to

That place where

My work can

Grow forth

Where the unfolding

Begins, the

Red ripening

Unfurls and

Becomes the

Fruit to share and

Bring Life.

There is a keening

As the low note of

The crystal bowl

Singing through the

Ancient dark trees.

The rising beat of the

Drum impatient for

Time to begin.

Best of times,

Of Life and Passion

And Love and Truth

And Still, and

Still.