Talking through a spirit guide to soothe
They say, ‘land is free as my soul’
Whenever I stand with you it is in rejoice
Ten toes sowed in loamy choice
Likely to stir and say in my dreams
That conversion to sainthood,
it just isn’t me.
Already in the life after death
Is the beat in my chest and awareness of breath
Lain a time of less need and a creative mess
Are you the voice that guides
The choices inclined
Towards steep mountain sides
Or the sign of the times
The edge of perception
Holds the smell of high tide