Living Tree Poetry

Your Word, I follow it,

less as a prescription,
or a formula,

than as an endless invitation,

an offer to join
the general dance.

Your Word, I see it

unravelling,
trailing behind as sunbeams cast,

or as a guide
turning with his torch

illuminating the way.

Your Word, I clasp it,

less as a book made of letters
in print, bound,

than as a gift broken apart
spilling in flowing ink,

all of its love.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
May 2021