Language of Light

The tenderness of a soft breeze
dapples the morning sea
across the broad channel.
Seals break surface in their forage,
dolphins show black fins
in rolling breaths
stirring the silence.
On the wind, the water,
the trembling earth,
a new-day testament
begins again,
written without words,
without sound,
in the language of light.

 

 

 

 


Absorbed in Silence

The door creaks, the window opens
to light and air and what waits.
Geese bark, otter slide into the sea
and I sit beside the water, aging like stone
into rough textured patience.
Quick as hummingbird,
bothersome as goose
I listen now and hear more deeply
the unsaid word, the long lost feeling,
the call of deep rooted trees
in sunlight and darkness.
I range like a swift, gather as a bee
tasting camas in its purple glow.
Absorbed in silence, I hook on
to the great chain of being
and quietly pass through the mystery.

 

 

 

 


Seeing Your Name

The trees I’ve walked beneath
these many years,
I still don’t know their names.
They must have them
growing in the moonlit dark,
reaching toward the sun.
There are grasses
here for a year then gone.
Someone must have named them,
millions upon millions
on this thread of rock.
The birds of course,
the sea creatures
and then the humans
who all have names
but who dares say they know.
I come in this unknowing,
an admirer of the tide,
the shape of water
and the glint of light
upon the morning.
Who walks in dark
and speaks to trees,
who dares to love
with all that means.
Empty and full
the parts of me
that do know
open like a sail
to catch the breeze,
seeing your name
for just one moment
signed in water
upon the sunlit sea.