triads

I engage the sacred with new eyes and
being open to the ancient without looking,
a first trickle of pure, sustaining water
drips to the bottom of the dry well.
There is bliss under the oaks council and
in the rituals of the Mystics around me,
I find a space for spirituality to dance
on the well worn paths of my soul.
It will be on new paths outside the old
that peace comes like welcome rain
to wash the dust from years of neglect;
There is hope I can’t see in the darkness.