Filled with doing
I claw back from the crowd
for space to breathe,
like a bird high in the tall firs
I let the sky reach through
and change the gravity of bone
to weightless flight.

I seem to be going backward
with more questions than answers,
losing control in painful movement,
nostalgic more than thinking ahead
and a few dozen different signs
that the apogee of adult life
is in my rear view mirror
when the engine coughs, sputters,
and surrounded by a barren landscape
I turn the key off,
the motor sound dissolving
into the chirp of crickets,
the hooting of an owl,
the glare of headlights gone
while above an arc of stars
in shimmering streaks.
The fresh smell of night,
the long dry day passing
into a cool refreshing dew
and I step from the road
remembering thankfulness
into the soft sound
of grass crunching
and my own heartbeat
deep within the earth.

This day is my life,
just this one, this moment,
everything else a story
I tell myself or listen to
while real life passes
on the flowing tide,
heading south
toward the moon
silent and unseen,
beckoning the sea
and my quiet soul
onward.

The landscape of night
and dream dissolves
like vapor off the river,
morning’s pale light
reaching into the world
with a message
in the color of sky
and the sound of birds
urging us to arise
and join the living.

With rough hewn faces
carved by time and ancient forces
the stones are solace,
their shapes comforting
as they stoop down to the water
and dip into the eternal presence,
the stories they hold of ages past,
speaking of what’s been lost
and how to keep alive the future.
They mirror my soul with so many questions,
desire for what seems impossible
in the face of poverty, pride and awful ignorance
yet also reckon my thoughts against the ocean
and the timeless weathering of images in basalt.
I bow with them on this cold morning,
the clouds beginning their winter path
bringing rain and strong wind,
taking heed of what rests aeons older
and sip on patience from the sea.