Here in this room,
this morning
no machine sound,
no gears or clockwork
falling into place,
just the soundless yes
of your hair upon the pillow
breathing softly in predawn light.

There’s a wind

before first light

with cool air

through the window,

the long arms of ocean

reach the valley

as people along the river

surprise themselves

with ancient signs

drawn in ink

upon their skin,

of hidden life

below the river

and ocean winds

before first light.

Where angels gather

windswept rocks

and rooted pine

and raptors in their solace;

there the burning is within

the flame whose wood is light

igniting the record

of all their choices

right and wrong

fueling the rise

into deep blue

burning, letting go

light and ash

becoming seed

spread with wings

upon the wind.

The sea is far away

outside the sound of cars

yet in my heart

I touch your presence

in the quietness

without distance

like tide returning

and light after rain.