this is my song

this is my song, o god of all the nations,
a song of peace for lands afar and mine.
this is my home, the country where my heart is,
here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine.

but other hearts in other lands are beating
with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.
my country's skies are bluer than the ocean
and sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine.

but other lands have sunlight, too, and clover
and skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
o hear my song, o god of all the nations
a song of peace for their land and for mine.
                  ~ lloyd stone
                      jean sibelius
                       finlandia


a hymn for these days..
'tis not easy..
knowing how to say what to say..
or to say anything that silence would best enhance
simply the inhale of breath
the outhale of letting go
and so....


this is my heart. it is a good heart.
bones and a membrane of mist and fire
are the woven cover.
when we make love in the flower world
my heart is close enough to sing
to yours in a language that has no use
for clumsy human words.

my  head, is a good head, but it is a hard head
and it wirrs inside with a swarm of worries.
what is the source of this singing, it asks
and if there is a source why can't i see it
right here, right now
as real as these hands hammering
the world together
with nail and sinew?

this is my soul. it is a good soul.
it tells me, "come here forgetful one."
and we sit together with the lilt of small winds
who rattle the scrub oak.
we cook a little something
to eat: a rabbit, some sofkey
then a sip of something sweet
for memory.

this is my song. it is a good song.
it walked forever the border of fire and water
climbed ribs of desire to my lips to sing to you.
its new wings quiver with
vulnerability.

come lie next to me, says my heart.
put your head here.
it is a good thing, says my soul.
                    this is my heart
                        joy harjo