Can you see that my entire body
is an altar? My eyes are lit candles,
my lungs breathe out hope’s
incense.
My heart is a shaman’s drum
pulsing
out life’s daily rhythm, tempered
with a searing chalice of honesty
lettered in my blood.
It is New Year’s Eve, yet the
graceful snake
of each minute, every butterfly
second
circles on time’s perpetual altar
cloth
as each pregnant moment births
its own
new year and another chance to do
what is right and true in what will
become
the Auld Lang Syne of your times.
So what gifts will you set on
your cloth?
Will your hands and feet be an
offering
and landmark of accountability
and compassion?
In the tilting lever of our days,
be an altar.
J. Pratt-Walter, © 12/31/2023
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