Breath of Heaven

One day I came across a magic Breath of Heaven;
I walked my evening walk a little after seven.
I gazed upon the bush abundant in rich flower,
and as one caught my eye, it held me in its power.

So I remained transfixed within that sylvan setting,
a random floral pick for its magic abetting;
I lost the sight of all the verdant growth of summer,
and then in dizziness I heard a rhythmic drummer.

Then in the semiconscious I remember lifting,
and through the gnarled limbs of oak I was a-drifting;
it was euphoria, yet senses were accented,
and even I thought this a fantasy invented.

Though eyes were heavy, I attained a greater vision;
(I knew I’d tell this tale yet knew I’d get derision).
The little drummer boy relented to a calling,
and then without that beat, I do remember falling.

But even in the fall, no fear was in my psyche;
I had an image of Air Jordon and even Nike.
The bone-white bark of sycamore received my passing,
and as I crossed the niche of squirrel, I heard them sassing.

When I returned I did not know what time was taken;
I broke the law of gravity but was not shaken.
Around the Breath of Heaven, wrens were in fine chorus;
I was so privileged to see both trees and forest.

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