A Poem: A Wick

My friend asked me where I find God.
There is so much everywhere.
I must exhale deep and breathe in that God
might travel down.

Past the sternum, further in,
the breath that’s not my own.
Until the spreading peace is like the
sky in the morning sun.

Yes, God, that is like oxygen,
shows how this presence fills.
It’s in the way the hill’s
tree lined crest

is a wick set to light with gold.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
November 2020

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