Grass
Hand high
And the wind, Breath of God,
Laughs across it,
Blows ripples, shimmers, serpentine undulations;
Waves rolling, dancing like a living sea -
Sea of grass, and the breath of God.

Hear them whisper;
The old spirits,
Voices weaving through the grass-
Sybilant music singing legends
Of lives passed away-
Whispering secrets of the netherworlds.
Secrets- now so seldom heard
By the dreams and wishes of men-
Tossed among the grasses.

Whispers of vague sorrows, fleeting regrets
And joys lasting only for that tiny moment in time
When a People roamed here, free.

They dance here, the elements, undisturbed.
Their voices slip through the grass,
skipping through the stalks;
Rise up to soar upon the breath of the wind,
And glide down to ride the waves of the living sea-
Sea of grass, and the Breath of God.

They play here, the old spirits,
In the realm of their Creator-
Sky above, Earth below,
Grass between
And the wind spinning all
Into an infinite thread
Then weaving a single awareness of eternity
Speckled with the dust of Humanity's bones.

They are here,
As long as the wind blows-
As long as the wind blows.

Christine AB Cross 1999