radiobastet

For Journal Poetry Day, I offer something I found in a copy of a used book of Goddess rituals, written on an index card. The author is unknown.

Devotions

You call to me, and through the misted morning's cool, sweet lullabye,
Your words are clear; a mother's kiss to gently guide me. Who but I
Could find Your face in dewdrops and the space between the stars?
You inhabit mountain peaks, majestic form alive in stone,
Where the dancing river speaks of ancient laughter. I alone
Climb upward on Your ever-varied, mottled granite stairs.
Eagerly, my hands enfold a liquid sky of deepest blue;
A hundred-thousand points of gold across are scattered. Only You
Remain in time when nothing but the wind, in anguish, stirs.