Just this morning,
maybe of all mornings
with the sky full of spring rain
and the fire warmly burning
I turn to the edge of light
in the far distance.
Cranky as a crow
yet open like a spring bulb
I go where I have not gone
for many years,
to the rim of a canyon,
the edge of a waterfall,
above and below
the whole earth calling
in the sweet toned melody
of the stranger I knew as joy.