Thoughts that come in dark of night
Are different than those of day.
They come askew, untuned by
Common sense, as they are unbound
Yet come from dreams or ancient sources,
Explode out of the deep cold
Where Sun has never reached.
So it was on the last night of winter,
Laying awake in a tangled bed.
Weather was stark and moon was bitter
As I pondered the madness
That would begin again at day.
Each day Earth spins upon its axis,
Circular trip whose course we never know.
Would that destiny followed straight lines….
Up above, in the March blackness,
I heard the sound of snow geese
Winging their way north, hoping
Spring is on its way— white bellies
Eerily lit by reflected light from town,
Necks stretched into driving wind.
What pulls us out of the south to
Remake ourselves again?
Is it merely new season? Perchance to breed?
To begin each day anew with neck stuck out?
It was a curiously quiet day that morning,
Gray and misty, not winter and not quite spring,
As if Earth paused in its cycle to give time to think.
Mornings bring departure, first from sleep,
Then from bed, then from home,
Accompanied by memory and yesterday’s
Dusty footprints on the trail, unless…..
Unless the wind of night has cleared away
All moorings and traces of yesterday.
Soon the Blood Moon will come in summer’s heat.
Coming with the seventh month,
I will choose for heart, choose for spirit,
Never will I choose for blood, knowing as I do,
Too much has been sacrificed, too much
Forgiveness to ask, too much to offer….
Already I have seen sixty-seven Blood Moons,
An age that carries madness and futility
More than wisdom, knowing I live in an alien land.
Let me, I pray, take to the open road, fly upward,
Neck stretched out in search of peace—
Where change does not mean ruin…
But where time, deeds, meaning and love
Are connected, embraced, and treasured.