These walls are made of clay,
Always damp and shifting,
Always changing shape.

If one would push just a bit,
Left or right,
Top on down the wall
They’d see that I am inside,
That I am pushing outward
At all times.

The clouds are my universe.
As Heaven moves within
This clay structure,

We will sink slowly down,
Lift our arms in joy,
Grasp the cottony billows
As if they were straw.
Straw, earthly delights, fully present.
“Clouds?” they’d say.

“How can clouds be your universe?”
Such concrete thought!
Let it move through you,

Touch you, inside your clay walls.
Lift your arms in joy,
Let the energy of the universe
Funnel through you, lift you up,
Open your heart and mind,
And float, lightweight movement

Through the clouds,
Through the clay and the straw,
Through my heart, my mind, my soul,
One and the same.

Dena L Moore
April 13, 2003