The sound of gulls,
of raven, crow and nesting geese
in their morning cloche…
then silence.
Silence like gravity
holding the earth
with the weight of time.
Silence the currency
of the guardians,
opening vision
to wind on the water,
the hunger for light.
Silence in the writing
of invisible touch,
erased then scored again
on the sea and sky
in the calligraphy
of the eternal.
Few may be who read
the manuscripts
yet the writing continues,
etched with heaven’s desire
for earth to come free
of winter’s veil.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Fool for April” with music by the Velvet Underground

Early morning under clear skies,
I load our trash and a few tools
onto the Mail Boat
and ride the channel
with the pilot and a passenger
to Deer Harbor.
The old boat putts along
in the slow diesel stroke
of an earlier time
before the rush of horsepower.
The sea softly rolls in light winds;
snow capped mountains frame the distance.
I hesitate before these journeys,
not fear of water as much as losing home.
The older I get the deeper I root,
walking among moon shadows,
hailing Aldebaran and Sirius
and Luna’s first quarter.
I’ll work on our boat at the marina
then grocery shop and return
with the afternoon mail.
I come and go with the ease of these times
yet an unspoken part of me never leaves
and to that fertile darkness
I truly belong.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Mail Boat” with music by R.L. Burnside

The tree that grew on the hills above Jerusalem
was cousin to the juniper growing here
on this rock shelf above the Salish Sea.
Stately furrows, roots like cable,
branches bearing delicate spindles
to capture the rain and light of this spring day.
We cut and shape these trees
as we did that one on Golgotha
those centuries ago,
forming it to a cross
to bear the weight of love.
It is a heavy burden
and one many choose to reject.
I remember that terrible day,
the punishment of the Via Dolorosa.
Here and now there is only
water, light and stone
and the body of forgiveness
taken down from the cross,
placed in the earth
and from the earth risen,
as we may rise
into the sunlit presence
speaking to us softly
in the murmuring voice
of the endless sea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “We May Rise” with music from Passion Week by Alexander Grechaninov

I sit quite still
becoming like the trees
in deep-rooted silence.
Mountains rest beside the sea,
the tide moving slowly
in the first hours of ebb.
There is an old song
in the hushed music of the earth
of ancient stone, rustling leaves
and the daylit dreaming of the forest.
I climb the vine covered walls
using stillness as a braided rope
and drop like a cat
into the garden of the eternal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Rope of Stillness” with music by Jack White

I count the days
under cloud filled skies
as the long arms of winter
slowly recede.
My hope like raindrops
falling to the wet ground,
finding faith in the dark soil
for what surely rises.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Finding Faith” with music by Carlos Santana