The tangle of roots in mud and clay
hold the impossible height
swaying above the rooftops.

 

I burrow down in what’s left
of imagination, clawing through
wires and pipes to the soil past grief,
finding a grip in the broken clods
of thankfulness

 

to recall your face, your name,
the years when strength was real.

 

I fought the greater force and lost
though you’d never tell by the smile
I wear like a medal of honor
from the wars of insanity.

 

Grace can be forgotten
but the slender threads
of love’s splendid garment,
torn and spoiled with mud
will not be undone.

 

With arthritic hands
I reach out in morning light,
caress the dawn as it gifts the sky.

 

Scatter my ashes below the evergreen,
let me be food for the gnarl of roots
and from the darkest earth let me rise,
let me rise.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Words of the Disciple” with music by Van Morrison.

Quietly he gathers attention
to the still point within,
a candle flame brightening
the inner sanctuary
where life force pulses.
His roots of awareness
drink deeply of the sacred
as prayers for peace
suffuse the sentient world
turning now to greet
the new earth dawn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Still Point” with music by Vivaldi, Violin Concerto with Itzhak Perlman

After the burden of travel
I return to the evergreen valley
with winter light along the rim.
Without wonder the soul becomes weary,
needing the air that stirs the high trees,
cleansing the passages clogged
by the dull weight of repetition.
One lightning stroke of imagination
and the body, racked by the failure to love,
comes alive with original intent,
tearing down the fences of ignorance,
clawing through the debris of vanquished beauty
to the dawn horizon opening in the eastern sky.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Original Intent”

In early dawn hours
the moon sets in the west,
Venus alight in the eastern sky.
Perhaps I’m foolish to become so joyful
yet I hold the morning dear
like the Navajo who sing
each day into being
with prayers of thanks.
However far we stray
heaven will light the sky
to brighten the darkness
and call us back to beauty.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Calling Us Back” with music by Hermanos Gutierrez.