trees gently bleed,
bark roughly blinks,
extend your layered limbs,
to my failing feet.
drip your tear to
cleanse me,
don’t clean me.
rain, crown my head,
purify my body in the sea,
hear my plea,
to the burning bush that speaks
the lamb that softly bleats.
salvation not in the sky
but on hardened surface.
among each wilted petal,
within each splinter of soil,
packed between my calloused toes
anoint me with your oil.
cleanse my soul,
don’t clean my soles.
for they carry the dirt i stomp on,
earth i trod on,
heaven i’m called upon.
