This is how it will be –
a ripple or wave upon the water,
light bending through ochre leaves,
the sound of an owl in the night
or in your eyes as we understand
what is to pass
and what may continue
laid out before us
like food after fasting,
the body so hungry
it will not eat,
wanting how she held us
by the pulse of the sea,
feeling the trace
of the night sky
as if it were legend
of our becoming
and the path
we would follow.
The wind will befriend us,
the rain soaked earth
our ally against reason.
We will see and know
what it is to be human
as the world turns over
and with a shudder
awakens beneath our feet.

The sound of the whale
burst from the channel
with a powerful AAHH,
its water spout blown
into the open sky,
then a loud gasp,
and rounding roll,
fluke up and curving
back into the cold,
a solitary hunter
searching the deep
for what would rise
and glory in the day.

for Regina

What comes of our being together
those few hours
then parted into the dark,
untethered, floating
like birds on a blasting wind.
Searching into the unknown
for one moment of certainty,
one timeless touch
on the grounding shore
of a wave cast sea.

Then one morning it was done,
the cloud cover complete
except for a peep hole in the east
with a few rays to remind us
the sun would still be here
when winter had run its course.
The sea became a beautiful gray,
the forest floor damp and musty
with mushrooms growing in near-light
as the earth tugged us gently
back into timeless sleep.
There we could dream and forgive
and build bridges beyond,
bridges that only emerge
from the deepest dark.

The tides move slowly in October,
sea changes mild and quiet,
rolled out and back like a soft cloth
draped over calm water;
even the birds go silent
as the autumn sun slants
with the message of winter,
peace turning down and in
like we may, resting from our troubles
just this one year, letting go to absorb
what the earth will write on still water.

With the curiosity of a seal
I stand above the emerald water
looking down at thousands of tiny fish
breaking surface in rippling circles.
The tide slowly lifts in the afternoon sun,
the last days of warmth before the coming rain,
a blanket that will soon cover us
through long months of growing dark
as mushrooms rise through the wet ground
and like our dreams freed from the burden of light
speak with the desire held too long in the earth.