Ah, to enlarge the Soul—
Why else are we born
But to wake and smell the possibility—
Open every closed door found on
Stony crust of Earth upon which we stride?
Every afternoon, I look out upon the lake
From different windows, gazing
Across the same threshold onto
Constant mountain, rooted trees…
Yet the only true unwavering is that
I want to know more than I know—
I yearn to look out upon a wider field,
See beyond my blindness,
Smell the scent of flowers even when petals
Have not yet blossomed on the stem.
I want to forgive with the grace of old lovers,
Hold such patient wisdom present in my heart,
Dance out on tiptoe without hazarding
Any answer, any judgment, any insistence
Other than time for daily solitude….
I want to repudiate the awkward, harsh taste of self-pity,
Sad crush of isolation that stagnates flow of
Nourishing air even as windows are opened to
Breeze that springs from the east.
Let me wear my flaws and imperfections
As clothes befitting full dimension of my authentic name,
My body, my particular bearing, my very being framed by Soul,
Memorized and unblemished in the eye of God.
Let me waken from my sleep with
Sharpened power to see, the wider knowledge
Breeding hesitancy to strike a blow or renounce
Whatever loves another finds while wandering
Through field after field after field of desire, turning
Backward when it suits for yet another glance….
Open to the discovery that hunts me down,
Unencumbered by whatever hard realities
Clouds of afternoon bring to disturb the blue;
To find, learn, teach to freely come and go,
Not needing so much to flee the dark
As to walk steadily toward the burning sun.
Always, the deepest sermons are written in darkness…
Come from an empty space, a void that speaks
Where burning bush leaves embers in the night,
Casts just enough light for shadows to gather on the walls…
Thin membranes of the heart, the pulsing
Movement of shadows keeping pace with the body,
Reflecting scars, faint hieroglyphics tattooed
Across years of devastation, destruction, ruination—
Recessed in stone, watched over, protected by angels,
Waiting for awakening,
Until time of proclamation finally comes,
Exalted, delivered, singing into consciousness by
Surrender to tender, necessary pain—
The sound of a slow promissory note blowing
Clear as it echoes in the night—
Sufficient for today the refrain that floats,
Released from ancient memories,
Resolving all resistance to company of love,
Exposed, finally freed, fortunate to breathe fresh air.
Tonight the moon is large and round—
A moon big enough for two to love.
There’s nothing we need to do but watch,
Hold hands under romantic light and kiss.
What else is there to say, except love comes
To fullness with each sight of moon,
Round and full as a lover’s eyes or
Half hidden on those dimmer nights.
Let us use this lovely moon to swear our vows—
Two loves be entwined as moon is one full circle,
Eyes reflecting light that shines from face to face,
A wholeness sustained even when we part.
There is a silence that grows
All the more profound when echoes
Stir the mind somewhere deep in shadow,
When the plaintive strain of
Solitary dove is heard to cry
As it flies against the clouds that
Hover drowsily in highest air.
I mustn’t fall asleep gazing at the sky,
Lest lack of vision linger to keep
Deep Presence out of mind.
From distant memory,
Opened as a window in evening light,
Warm breezes flow from shadow into sight….
Whisper through the silence at my feet.
The sun has no regard for day today,
Hid its face till afternoon, then appeared
Briefly at the end of a long muddy lane.
I stopped to watch it burn itself
Against the soaked meadow, then laughed
As mud upon my boots crudely interrupted
Musings of a half-composed poem….
Breaking thought away from passages of the
Sun and verse together as snow began to fall.
Did someone forget to tell the clouds
That spring is seven days away, as
All of wildlife waits for warmer days?
Soon I’ll turn to spoon-shaped moons for dry refuge,
Exchanging poetic license in favor of synonyms for sunset,
The painful limp of iambic foot drags,
Upstaged upon the snoozing mind by
Lovers walking hand-in-hand across a poetic path,
Waiting for dusk to take them further into love.
Come with me on first day of Spring
And we will March together to the mountain,
Watch the Sun redress the lake
And bid goodbye to winter.
There may not yet be flowers to pick,
But forsythia will soon be budding on the juicy stem,
Maples will drip their honey for us to taste,
Whatever brooks we ford will voice their babbling,
And we will know the smell of Earth is good.
We will not feel threatened if it rains,
Water running swiftly
Downhill to chase the ruins of winter.
The desire for spring is justly strong….
When it comes, we’ll see it as never before—
As if the Earth were young.
Soon forgotten fades the snow
As field turns fresh again….
Deer run freely on last fall’s leaves as
You walk close beside along the path.
We will sing green songs of spring and
You will know you are my love.
Let me speak, if only for now,
Of the shadows which shape my life….
The weary dimness of a world
That never fully ventures into light
Yet silhouettes my inner being and my soul—
Draws my different nature into curious disguise,
Burns cold dreams as circles in the night,
Gathering rays together into bright
Lines in bold relief, wilder spirits outlined,
Filled with rapture in the haze of distance,
Chasing after my own life as though,
With sufficient passion, it might be caught
Within a poem that would make the shadows real.