Water tends the land
with fussing fingers—
smoothing shorelines,
her children step
onto the sand, poking
their slippery heads
above the surface.

There the sun shocks and stings
filtered only by throbbing air—
they wander out nonetheless.

The day nature sprouted eyes:
what beauty, what horror,
stared back on her smile?

Jung said
there is no coming
to consciousness without pain—
a slap from god's hand
will accompany every revelation.
in the soul's search
for its true self

Copyright 1999 by Leo Frere