Well, I can’t purify myself
and I can’t improve my state of mind,
can’t add a cubit to my stature,
can’t fix myself, can’t fix another

But I can appeal
to the ageless order of being
that sings through winds,
that plays through rain,
that blows the scent of oceans
up majestic mountains,
that brings the scent of snow back down

I can appeal
to what twines together
the intricate lacings of life,
the waves of movement,
the harmony of breath

There is a knowing
before which my own concepts
are rendered silent.
Dip me in seven times
and I’ll be clean.

©Wendy Mulhern
October 28, 2015