What will draw me

from the unleavened mass,

to rise beyond the rigid shape

and rule of expectation

to one breath of air,

one glimpse of daylight

and the knowledge so rare

of freedom.

Before the wars and violence
there was light upon the sea
and wind from the south, stirring;
before we sacralized our hunger
fish flowed like the tide, with otter
and eagle brimming the shoreline;
before the internet and electricity
we connected through the land
sending messages into the deep
with faith inspired by the rising moon;
much is gone but she’s still here,
popping up like a surprised seal,
flittering by on tiny wings,
calling us down before the day passes
with these moments of mystery, of life.

I greet the day as I am,

with all my faults and frailties.

Opening myself to the flow of power

I become a river, a tree, a lightning rod;

what pours through is life.

Billowing clouds against blue,
roses drooping under spring weight,
the smell of new dirt and your hair
tied back in the garden.
A few words sent out
against the tide of heartache;
what supports the soul
the subtle urge of thankfulness.