Rains and settling dark
softly soak the city.
In the mountains
forests rest white
and undisturbed.
Snow laden trees,
streets washed clean,
the timeless hymnal
open to the sky
in the deep throated
song of winter.

photograph by Patrick Orleman

Smoke rises into clear skies,
the morning cool and bright.
Yesterday’s weight drops
like a long heavy train
uncoupled from the engine of desire.
Thankful for the deeper healing
we rise from dark rooted soil
wet with winter’s love
to greet this day, open
like a myrtle tree in spring.

Across the heaven
a line of light
opens the day
while another
marks the night.
Beneath the skies
we sleep then wake
alive to the morning.
The voice of God
rises tender and sweet,
a green sprout of corn
to comfort us
while seeds of the eternal
take moisture from the well within
and a spark of life
struck on the old stone of faith
fires the miracle
of our deepest dreams.

photograph by Patrick Orleman

Songs of going down
will have to wait.
The drawn curtain pulled back,
a window looking out
on an uncertain sea,
waves steep and frightening.
What has never been will be,
what corrupts finds no solace.
The old psalms comfort
but new music rises.
There, off in the distance,
a hand waves, a door opens
and what I have been rushes by
like wind above the water.
Against all odds
this is a good time to raise sail.
Let the heart’s desire crack on!