In one bright hour
the woman’s body supple and sure,
quiet with the calm of early morning.
Silent and still as ancient stone,
testing every defense
until like water we flow
with ardor drawn
from mountains of solitude,
pouring wide into the valleys
of her remembered embrace.

Flickering flames
in the long dark disconnect,
we hold to the good
tenacious as infants;
with so much undone
in the downward spiral
we cling like grass
to serenity and the grace
of this miraculous life.
We’ll not speak of fighting,
not in this holy hour.
Curious as birds we look
to what may yet be,
casting our lot
with the eternal.

I’ll grow a beard
live on the tide,
turn to stone
or dandelion yellow.
Become water
race in the ebb,
grow talons, take flight,
lay down as grass
sun brown and blazing.
Something will change me
yet behind the faces
I’ll be the one watching,
rock shore deep,
hummingbird fast,
back to the invisible.

The moon-laid path
glistens on night water
inviting a dance.
Owl calls from the wood,
the splash of a seal.
I think to go within,
conditioned by some long-ago cave,
but the night is still and alive
with the deep peace of silence.
Moon awakens the land.
Trees stand tall in the stars.
I touch their rough bark,
giving myself to place.
Hollow as a reed
the music plays on
haunted until morning.