Kelowna Wind

down off those cold bald peaks--
down in the valley,
where the trees scratch their backs against the legs of the hills,
and the rocky shore aches against the lapping waves--

you reached across the lake
with your feathery fingers
and ran right through me.

and in the explosion that follows
I became the million singing birds, winging
their way to freedom, to some greater heights
than I have ever been allowed to know.

but then you wrapped your arms around me
curled your hands around my shoulders,
lifted and shook me

and I became a tree, and I took root
among the spreading wiled willows
along the shore.
straight and tall
hands uplifted in exaltation
branches swaying in expectation.

you caught my face like a flag
and I lifted it up,
unfurled.
Unfurled to what?

there must be hands in these hills!
there must be a song that sings these birds!
there must be a seed that spoke these trees!
just like there must be breath in this wind!
there must be a banner on this flag!

Whose banner is my soul, my hands, my breath, my face?
Could I be the temple of some unsung, amazing grace?