Much has fallen away –
the medals, the money,
the magical thinking
turned by the long slow arc
to become like old crow
who croaked at the beginning
about what doesn’t last,
yet standing before your art
I see our lifetimes compressed,
the once unformed angel
with wings now unfolded,
the colors of the eternal
in time released brilliance
shooting holes in the dark curtain
ego uses to cover its ignorance,
restoring in my weather worn heart
the hopeless infatuation with beauty.

Encaustic painting by Eilish Hynes

The current carried us far down stream,
the ford of our crossing miles back
past cliff walls and rock strewn rapids,
an impossible return to the place
of original intention.
The power of the river greater
than our single mindedness,
it overwhelmed and carried us
with the urgency of mountain,
river’s desire for the sea.
Looking back our plans were absurd,
our preparations misguided,
where we had hoped to go
forever retreating
as the current carries us onward.
The river is not to blame,
only our impatience and pride.
What will we do now
so far from origin,
from the plans laid down
by our earliest guides?
We can’t remember
the promised land,
we never reached it.
What will guide us now
in the darkened canyons
of this unknown passage?
We must listen to the river,
watch for signs in the sky.
Our arrogance is washed out
with much of what we needed.
Quieted like the stars
we will continue;
pray we find solace
on the rock strewn shore
or the unseen distance
where the river is destined.

We travel on wind driven waves,
our color the purple camas
rising from the earth then gone
as winter green moss dries in the sun.
We taste from the fountain
with hummingbird,
our bodies aging like trees
rough barked and looming,
and we, the street lights of eternity
lit for a time then gently
going dark with all that passes.

Long ago words were spoken
with the sound of trees,
the whoosh of leaves,
river water rolling stones
and crows with lampblack feathers.
We would listen
then form our mouths
to the ohs, the wahs,
the kas, mouths shaped
to our relations,
to the sounds we heard
within the great circle.
Proud of our many words
we filled the sky with wires,
covering the earth
with our talk,
yet the elders say
the oldest sound,
the most important sound
is silence.