This moment is a deliberate act –
Being breathing undulations of creation
across the warp and weft of the eternal now.

Your inhale drinks from earth’s spring
blossoms and crests in its zenith pause
suspending time as the moment lingers.
My exhale, spending the sun’s light,
folds the radiant bloom into dusk and night
welcomed by solar winds and wintry moons.

Ah! One willful creative act – this moment –
pushes aside the unforgiving past, that spell
woven of slender and fragile threads;
tears at the gauzy gossamer mirage
of illusion and desire, spun as a veil
over what may be, shredded to reveal
the calm and incandescent present.

This moment!
Who will stand at its threshold gaily
waving the starting flag to watch
as it rounds the four corners?
Who will usher it to the finish line
shouting, “Hurrah! Alleluia! Well done!”?
If not me, then the stones and the stars,
birds and brambles, lilies of the field,
river and snow, wind through the trees,
every slivery particle and silvery wave!

Portland, Oregon – July 18, 2019

Aurora – Sun breaking dawn
Ora – Morning prayer
Aural – Birdsong

I can see
can hear
the shell of day
breaking in the morn,
cracked open in sharp sound
pouring clear sky
yolk of sun
sizzling in cool breeze
night fleeing the scene.

Day begins
broken, bright,
auroral, ora, aural.

Portland, Oregon – June 17, 2019

Through the front window
the sun’s warm light comes
in bright fingers feeling
windows and walls, fashioning
mosaics in shadows on the floor.
Whispers of wind in motion
enter the room as leaves
twisting on their branches
to form the sacred images of home.

The living room is still;
in the westering sun’s light –
aflame – the final flickering
before that bright being bends
simmering into still and dark waters.
The warm glow through the window fades,
deepening shadows lengthen and congeal
until the room itself vanishes
into the cool and quiet of night.

Portland, Oregon – June 11, 2019

I am Atlas, holding the world.
It is light, a jewel reflecting light
held in my outstretched hand.

I was young and I let it go,
went my way, wandered about
forgetting what once I held.

Older now, with time on my hands,
I wonder whether, once again,
I can hold the world?

I turn, turn again, and again
to see, to my surprise,
the world tilting its way
towards me, fallen nor broken not.

I seem to see it from afar
it’s beginning and it’s end.
It comes to me, turning
as motion of darkness to light.

Comes? No. The world pours itself
into my hands as grace –
water from pitcher to cup,
river to slow fall
into a serene and clear pool.

Once I let the world go,
it’s weight I could not bear.
Now, I take it up again
to feel the expectant thrill
of a child reaching for the moon.

Portland, Oregon – May 15, 2019

In all the worlds
in all the universe
all the sunsets
uncountable.
Here is mine
on a cool spring evening.
This setting sun
through green growth
and the wind.
Is there another
like it, anywhere
in all the universe
and all the worlds
and all the evenings
of all the days that are
or ever were?

Portland, Oregon – April 27, 2019