My head aches,

the bones in my hand throb,

their stories of punishment

coming out in skeletal code;

an icy fog covers the valley

and as I struggle to rise

from the dream depth into now

the face of an elder

looks back across the room,

etched with years of solitude,

unflinching, no expectation,

pain a part of each wrinkle,

a deeper joy burning from within,

startling me with the awareness

of who I am becoming.

"Grandmother Moon" by Dirk, Blackfoot, Friends of Red Lodge, Dream Time Series

Color is her gift to us

lifting from the dream

dark sleep of winter

a bright orange promise

from ancient cities

below the sea

to the unborn waiting

in the midnight blue

of her future.

Sitting in the dark

before first light

I feel you in the air,

the warmth of the fire

so extraordinary and simple,

tea with leaves from India,

honey from the devotion of bees

and a small silver spoon stirring,

speaking subtly

as the morning does

of your voice

and the bright glowing spark

of all that awakens.

Something luminous waxes within

as I watch the moon rise

full again upon the Earth

telling its old tale once more,

the mysteries of gain and loss,

of all who loved and failed to love

or find their way

on the path of pale light

glimmering in the winter forest,

speaking in silence

through all our forgetting

of how She holds us

in the ancient folds of Eden.

Painting "Don's Moon" by Marco Menato

High up in the gray sky

tall firs sway in a wind

not felt beside the pond

glistening in the day’s last light

abandoned by geese and ducks

even in this mild winter.

I plod along the empty path

watching branches far above

catch and wave in Oregon color

as I wave to the lives I’ve lived

gone like the geese of winter,

wondering what will come on this wind,

if I will rise like evergreen sap

for another spring, another pulse of life,

searching through my inner darkness

for the knowledge of a seed

and a spark of love to see it through.

Naked branches shorn of green

tremble in the winter wind,

buds closed yet full of life

turned upward on the morning sky

while below the work of birth continues,

dark earth and root gathering

for the rise and sail of leaf.

Awakening from the dream
shadows resolve,
turbulence recedes,
treasuries of the heart
in kindness gold,
sweet incense forgiving
and peace within a stable shed
resting on a bed of hay.

I sit within the arc of aging
strong with weight
of years in silence,
worn to round
like rocks against the sea,
tides of gain and loss
shaping, reshaping
while below the surface
star fish brilliant
breathe in water
turning salt and sea
to light.

The tiny bird breaking shell
makes a cry for food and air
with furious faith in what she needs.
Hearing her across the water
from deep within the forest
I enter dark to find her,
hands empty, feet afraid
of stirring branch and netted moss,
my only gift poetic dreams
that sound upon life’s trembling web
to feed her hunger and clothe her naked body
in the silken plumage I imagine
with ravishing love.

Undulating like ocean waves
messages from heart to heart
weave a web across the world
trembling our frames of bone and skin,
the desire to create burning like fire
on the altars of our hidden love.