Let it be dark,
this cave of contemplation.
No light need enter,
no warmth.
Outside winds howl,
the distant noise
of breaking ice
and cold shot trees.
Having given up the sun
and taken to the cavern
I say what stone says,
the weight I’ve carried
laid down in darkness.
I breathe slowly
between dreams
with heart at rest
in the slow beat
of winter.
Don, “I say what stone says” is very good, a fine part of a good poem. Thanks.
As the moon eclipses the sun today I join you in the blessed dark, Don. Yesterday I drove over the Rocky Mountains with 28 sweatlodge stones in the trunk of my car, giving me ballast on my way home…they will speak to me soon, as your words speak to me now, from a depth, soul depth, of being human.
I’m fairly certain Don you’ve done some time as a grizz hibernating on the North Slope ~
And it is a slow beat as I contemplate my purpose on the planet.
Thank you, Don. The dark space simultaneously feels crowded and spacious. It is not the season for seeing. This is the season for shedding old skin and half truths. I share cave space with Diamondback. Its rattle is silent.
I love this one, Don. The images and rhythm are so powerful. Thank you.