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.

Nootka Rose, Waldron Island

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.

The billowing clouds against blue,

roses drooping under spring weight,

the smell of new dirt and your hair

tied back to work in the garden;

a few words sent out

against the tide of heartache,

noticing what supports the soul

and the subtle urge of thankfulness.