The Web

You wanted to be a great artist
You asked of your elders
one told you to gather a fresh
cobweb from a cedar tree
and wash your face with it
then would your ancestors come
and be in you the art you desire.

You gathered your courage
with the cobweb on your two
open palms
as you walked alone in the forest
and so trembling washed your face.

Then, as foretold, the dreams
Came showing you how to strip
the cedar's inner bark,
leaving it's life to heal,
weave beautiful hats and purses,
bowls, mats and bags.

I was in your tribal house
on your dedicated land
the river ran full and silent
and green
beneath the maples and aspen.

I felt there was a web
spinning about me,
a projection, an image
of mystery and pagan bliss.

I had nothing to say
and felt confused, confounded,
a little ashamed.

I felt I must slip away while I could,
I am here long term.
There will be another time,
Another day, even another person
to tell you another dream,
How we meet Jesus walking
Along the shore and what he says.

Perhaps your web will be ragged
And torn, then, at that time,
Your dark eyes weary with tears
Heart broken and bound
In a spidery cucoon,
Ready for the resurrection,
The healing Balm Of Gilead,
Ears open to the universal music
Of salvation's eternal love.