Living Tree Poetry

My morning prayer rises
with the light.
Swells like the billowing bud,
or the ocean’s wave
against a shore.

Crests like the sun
edging over the hill,
catching alight
each bark and leaf
turned to its glow.

My morning prayer escapes
as breath,
meeting the cool dawn air,
or as birds suspended,
in the pleasure of flight.

And wraps me
as pink,
apricot clouds,
enveloping the sun,
foretelling the day’s coming.

My morning prayer echoes
without a word
across the plains, hills
and vales,
above the oceans.

To meet the one
who sends it back,
in the billowing bud,
the sun’s display,
the day’s arrival.

Like a signal,
to confirm the hearing,
or a sign of affirmation.
As a beacon might shine
from a lighthouse on a hill.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
August 2019