Tuesday, 24 February 2015


It is a dance:
Bare foot,
Raised hands,
Hair loose
In tangled strands.
And every word
Of praise
Is the slap-slap
Of bare feet
On uncertain ground,
Every whisper
Summoning grace
The clapping of hands
Besides the tilted face.

We dance
To call to witness,
Our innermost selves,
We dance
And as the tender gaze
Of the One
Rest on us,
We rise
On our
Dizzy toes
And spin.

Oh we spin
We hitch
That tenuous
String of Faith
To the
Universe's Dream
And become
Spinning-top joy
The shape
Of the ALL:
With floating hair,
With belling skirt,
With singing love.

Manuela Cardiga

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