When the light darkens
the path twists,
becomes more difficult.
What will rise must have root,
the grace of a flower.
Let the earth be your ally
and the patience of stone
flow through you like a river.

photograph by Louis MacKenzie

The night so long
it seemed the darkness
would never fade,
the light on the roses
and soft glow of the trees
only a memory.
When I awoke
I went to the window
and looked out to see
pink and white blossoms,
rain drops like luminescent bells
hanging from the dark cherry wood.

Born to wonder,
our original memory
a secret code
of symbols and runes
letting darkness nurture,
dreams become talisman.
Emissaries of an ancient light,
born from the mother
on a rushing tide
of blood and water,
we find ourselves
naked and shivering
on an unknown shore.
We learn the stories,
speak the language
until one day the body
within the body
emerges from its chrysalis.
Stones rise, seas lift,
the veil of mystery rents
and the silence of the ages
opens once more
to the one who walks within.

photograph by Eilish Hynes

No way out
of fine balance
on the long thin wire
between the towers
of then and now,
of what has been
and what must be.
Carrying the weight
of seventy one years
I can’t look down
like once I did,
can’t let my mind wander.
Every step precise,
each movement of arm and leg
careful and disciplined
with the tension of symmetry
as the far tower approaches.
Like a kettle over flame
I boil but not too much,
let the intensity build
but not spill over.
I sleep on the wire
and wake to another day
above the chaos,
intent on the journey
and treasure of this moment,
splendid and free so near disaster,
crossing the void to what waits beyond.

photograph by Ann Foorman