Cessation.
A road into deep wood
becomes a faltering trail
ending in beds of thick moss
under forgotten clouds
floating soft.
We are pulled
beyond memory and knowledge
into indigo blue
ferocious blackening night.
We will wake.
To what shall we wake?
Portland, Oregon – June 22, 2020
I am at a loss to describe what is happening in the world and especially in America right now. This is the best I could do, for now.
A nation may be reborn
out of flame and darkness,
broken glass, death, ignorance,
blood, beaten and broken bones.
The trial and terror of birth –
its unknown face
weak and trembling
shouts in the corridor.
Birth tears an opening
out of which it comes.
It wounds forever
what came before –
history, tradition, belief.
What comes cannot return
from whence it came.
The child of birth cries
comes, cresting before our eyes.
Scream if you must.
Healing, salve, balm –
chrism poured over a living being
beginning to stand, flex, stretch.
Let it come. Let it be.
Portland, Oregon – June 9, 2020
As I write, America is in a raging and justifiable turmoil. We do not know what will come of it. I have hope. I am given hope by what I see on the streets of America.
In Cascadia 