A Poem: Hooked

I see the trees pointing up
as guideposts.
I see the grass as a coverage,
a blanket for the world.
I see the way the green unfurls
across the earth
and think of my daughter’s
crocheted scarf
lengthening under love’s firm labours,
its hours of soothing repetition.

I turn now in a widening circle.
My house a centrepiece
among the clouds,
a lamp light mirroring sunset hues,
now gold, now apricot,
now indigo blue.
I see the way night’s curtain
folds
as a swaddling cloth,
or an encompassing hand.

And I see the way I live pointing up,
guided by above, beneath.
I see the way my surrounds speak
in a myriad of languages,
the only constant,
this signature
running unrestrained
through all things,
alive in the veins
of each limb and leaf,
each bird’s span of wing.

This is the religion I profess,
though I have no guidance to provide
in following it.
Other than to say: Look!
See how you are like a crocheted pattern,
a finished loop, attached
to the one following it.
Expanding outwards, lengthways.
Know that you are in line for continuance,
so very gently, hooked
and interlocked.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
September 2022