I see a basin of water
reflecting branches darkening
inside the spring sun’s set –
wind ruffled image.
I open my eyes
see water branch wind.
Close my eyes. Still.
They are there.
I cannot change
what I see in the water
the wind or the branches.
Nothing more. No answers.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Portland, Oregon – March 29, 2021
We will not be
when the world turns
hurtling itself further
into the circle wide.
We had time and love –
not time enough for forever.
We spent our lives playing
dancing and dying in green fields.
Neither alpha or omega
first or last, beginning or end.
Swirling movements for a time
points of turning, turning, and turning.
If only it could last
our human being wanderings.
We leave our poems and art
our music to thrill the spheres.
Creative gifts given, written
played, drawn and colored
sent as gifts – what we loved –
out where only others go.
______________________________________________________________________
Portland, Oregon – March 8, 2021
Often, mornings I sit with wild birds
who poke about among fallen leaves
gathering what our bit of earth provides.
To them I offer a human greeting: “Hello!
How do you fare this day, going about?”
Older now, forgetting my youthful doubts
I have expectant hope of twittered replies
as they’ve come grudgingly to know me
as one who sits under our cedar tree
a tweet, perhaps, from a nearby chickadee.
No less do I hope that when I pray
for you, thinking mercy, grace, and love –
healing in your moments of human need –
that mercy, grace, and love will find you.
Just so, because we share a part in life,
becomes fixed between us an anchored cord
pegged to sacred ground, pinned fast
to a round and boundless eternal realm.
__________________________________________________________________________
Portland, Oregon – March 3, 2021
In Cascadia 