Living Tree Poetry

That you would choose me?
As your abode.
This earthly rustic home.

The trees make for you
a cathedral
in their heavenly reach,

I could not hope
with clay-bound feet
to emulate.

But the birds still fly,
and the oceans move
in this flimsy construct of mine.

Within which, mathematics
makes no sense,
nor surface appearances,

or the measurements
science has taught us
to trust.

In this place
heaven exists both within,
and without.

And you are forever breaking
the boundaries
of my understanding.

And instead of an altar
I‘ve made you a home,
where together we break bread.

And I note how the light shines
through broken walls,
to illuminate the spaces where we sit.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
September 2018