This is Sacred Ground

This is sacred, flooded room empty but for water boards, dry, rubbed with black ink. This is sacred ground, page floors, a book of hours filled with anxiety and despair. This is sage and daisy, disconnected by death from the white world. Noon prayers, this is more than darkness, bearing in around me, where the tree stood. They laid the man down, from the white world back into his sacred Mother, and the world was made of sound again, spirits singing of mind and mushroom fire. This is sacred ground, disconnected by death from the white world.