It isn’t that I take them in my hands as threads
— the spinning lines of power —
Not that I grab and tweak and wield them
sending things where never sent before
Instead, the rushing law of harmony
owns me, as it owns everything alive
and every distant echo, every wave —
It tunes them, as to ancient memory
And so you see, the power that spins through us
and wraps us in our synchronistic movement,
coordinates the blessing, so it flows
all through us and beyond, in raptured union
is not defined by me, nor can I use it
but cleaving to its presence, I may prove it.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 16, 2011