Clear night
with dry cold
and east wind,
change coming
in quiet steps
as last leaves fall,
bare branches stir.
Fullness past
we may empty
with the earth,
hollow reeds
for winter music.

The Moon nestled
in egyptian blue;
Orion chasing Pleiades
with Sirius close behind.
The ancients on winter track
as we follow in the snow,
our memories softened
by the night of forgiveness
coming upon the earth,
the poverty of the stable
reminder of the great love
that holds us to the stars.

The roar of motors fills the streets,
compressors pound the roof tops
maintaining the illusion.
Quietly I lift the veil,
the sanctuary of old
intact despite the fury.
The peace of kings
rises from the darkness
and in the grey solstice dawn
one bright banner unfurls.

photograph by Louis MacKenzie

There are days when fog
holds tight to the river
and the smell of corruption
lays down on the world
like it will never move.
Days when the sky breaks,
the blue that rushes in
a deep river of faith.
Today might be one of those days
as I drop below the fog
to the peace beneath the city,
under the basements,
the pipes and channels
cut from wet ground,
down where the furthest root
reaches the sound of drums,
of water over rocks
and the old earth breathing.

Who will find me
hidden away in the warmth
of this dark winter cave?
Dreams to be dreamt,
visions to be honored,
the slow eating of fat
and the quiet, quiet heartbeat.
When the first salmon toil
over rock bedded streams,
when snow falls from the full
laden branches of evergreen,
when sun finds its way
along the great arc north
then I will stretch and uncurl
from this lightless comfort
and sing once more my hunger.

Photograph by John Shaw

The bright light of autumn
shines on the yellowing trees,
a steady breeze stirring
the leaves with awakening.
We’ve come round on the season
so many times before
yet each time it’s new,
as if we’ve never seen
this flutter of gold.
There’s freedom in the air
to rise or fall
as you might choose,
to follow the path
known only to yourself.
Quiet those voices
that wish to limit you.
Take their counsel if you will
but know you may let go
from the thin stem
holding you to the old bark
and take off into the air
of your future.

photograph by Sandy Brown Jensen