“Rock My Soul”

What would it be

to move as though one’s soul

was rocked, being rocked. rocking

within the embrace of the source,

the fiery softness of Centre

where milkweed meets the Aurora Borealis,

where cedars stand, withstand, the bitter

and the respite winds.


What would it be

to move as though God,

manifest in the prophesying dahlia,

in the chanted breath of justice-seeking;

as though God,

grounded in the nourishment of a meal among friends,

and loosed in the flight between Here and There,

rocked, was rocking, rocks, my cradled soul?


-Kimberly M. King


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