Giving way to quiet,
a rolling wave
brushes the broad earth
with the breath of stillness,
soothing the hurts
of thought and worry,
the dark plains
of loss and want,
guiding gently
the lost child
we once knew as peace.

Photograph by Patrick Orleman

Darkness covers the city
though street lights
push against the unwelcome;
soon the turning east
will open to the sun.
For now the night blanket
covers the injuries
poured upon the earth,
sheltering the wounded
from the stark witness of day.
Before we rush to the light,
smothering awareness
with our hive of activity,
let this last hour
wipe clean the cup;
offer this humble bowl
on the altar of renewal.

The pause between night and day
suffers the wind, the rain,
the dark uncertainty
to welcome the unfinished
with the grace of a bird.
Each morning I go to this altar
emptying the night
bucket after bucket
until I’ve space enough
for the dawn.

I walk beneath the island trees
rekindling lost fire,
awakening to her presence.
Cool air from the north
flows across the broad sea
lifting white caps
on billowing waves.
She’s coming to greet me
with her blessing basket.
How can I refuse?

I may be in a trance;
wind cuts down from the north,
sea rolls in driven waves,
the tide ebbing south.
Dark grey sky above,
hints of blue and gold
where the rising sun
lights behind the clouds.
I wandered in my dreams
between worlds not understood
yet this morning the beauty
of your presence
brings me to my knees.
Society but a skin
I shed in silence,
quiet is my solace,
the sea my embrace.
I never cared for pretense,
what I was supposed to love
and be devoted;
good works only go so far,
the honorable drivers
of an unrelenting wheel.
The mask falls away
in the presence of the Earth;
at last I am a creature
I can understand.
At home in my skin
nothing is foreign.
A plane cracks overhead
but I remain empty
gazing on the sea,
wind driven once more,
carried by the tide.