Like the waterfalls of Guiana
and the sweeping arc
of the great Mississippi,
the rhythm beats against
our blue lined skin
reminding us of a source
broader than the far horizon
yet alive in our bloodstream
like a pulse at the heart of the world.

photograph by Dennis Brown

A small offering
before the gray morning
for the gift of dream,
the shelter of hope
and the faith to continue.

Awake with first light,
tiredness lifted from my body,
the energy of sun and water
finding its way into my heart.
A grey wing junco
sits for a fluttering instant
on a bench near the point
and for a moment we trade places –
the bench a perch for junco me,
skittering over the warming ground
looking for worms with a bird’s heartbeat,
so much to see and feel
in the compressed life of a feather.
Back in my human body
with the slow pulse of years,
I notice the shag bark and smooth skin
of the reaching madrone pulling up from root
into the broadening leaves of April
and for a moment we trade places,
the yearning earth flowing through my branches,
the hope of green flooding into the newly lit sky;
the pulse of this heartbeat slow and melodic,
drumming the gravelly soil
along the rock and into the sea.
Easing in and out of this body,
trading places with my children,
becoming their son or daughter,
with my friends, feeling their joys and sorrows,
walking in the two legged way,
alive and still eager for the mystery.

As the body when strained

the soul too must relax,

breathe deeply, exhale

and like the tide

retreat, making room

for what comes in the morning,

like light upon the mountain,

discovering what the Earth

would bring to an open heart.