Through Dark Hollows

Surrendered to the morning,
the coming day and pressure to do,
I leave the night, the darkness
that wraps me in its blanket
teaching the art of dreams.
To love the light, the soft touch
of spring rain on open leaf
is to join the green world
and all that’s rising, yet
part of me remains in root,
following water down
through dark hollows
and coarse layers of stone
to the unerring food of silence.

 

 


photograph by Willard Walch

 


Words Like Soldiers

We can’t catch the dawn
or chase night to its safe retreat.
We face an incoming army,
troops of words like soldiers
marching across the once green land,
the music of poetry driven underground.
Their forces move in lock-step
as we withdraw into darkness
with stories of ancient times,
leaving behind the dry dust of logic,
a wasteland of abandoned dreams.
Who will remember the fires at midnight,
the heroics of song and verse?
We join with stone in the birthplace of water,
awaiting the earthquake of color
upon whose shattering tide
we will one day rise.

 

 

 


photograph by Jim Frid

 


Sure as Sunrise

When morning comes
light will change our dreams,
the thoughts, the images
of the self we’ve known
and free us to the open sky.
Every fingered bead
and candle lit
leads us to that moment.
The hour and the day
or who will be there
no one knows,
yet it will come
sure as sunrise,
written upon the morning.