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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

photo 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 of 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.