Morning will return

Patience,
my child:
Morning will return
and the sun
with her tender fingers
will wipe every tear
from the cheeks of the flowers.





* * *

A shimmer of holiness

The heron kneels in the morning light
as if to kiss the ground,
but I know it's just to feed himself.
When will I learn
that I, too,
must kneel in humble reverence;
that I might,
in watching patiently
the river as it flows beneath my feet
observe a shimmer of holiness,
reach out and grasp
and feed upon
that brief glowing moment;
delighted and nourished by the tickle
as it slides down my hungry throat.


* * *

Welcoming the shadows

A flicker of light and my eye is caught;
a hint of shadow,
a presence in the grass,
an aura of mystery
in the stillness
and the movement.
Something is watching;
something waits to see
if I am a threat.
Something hovers,
poised for flight,
listening, always,
for any sign of danger.
How can I convey the truth,
that you are welcome here?
Be still; let hearts connect.


* * *

Fire in the night

Fire comes in the night,
sweeps through my dreams
burning all in its path.
When morning comes
I'm beached,
wrung dry,
a burnt-out hull
charred and broken.
Where there was light,
and color,
and functionality,
only the scent
and scrape of dark remain;
the cushion prayer provides
offers a small reflection of heaven
in a psyche
pitted with death and loss.
What now?
How shall I dispose of what's been burnt away?
And what new life will be revealed
when this old carcass is dragged from my shore?


* * *

Heart's resonance

Evening,
and the crowds have disappeared;
I have this blessed mystery
all to myself
and stand
bewitched
watching light and shadow
playing on the graceful curves,
dancing in the silence;
glowing in the stillness.
The chambers of my heart
recognize a kindred spirit
in the arches
soaring overhead
and open,
unfolding,
blooming in the peaceful resonance;
love sounds its bell
deep within
and echoes of its tolling
radiate through hungry limbs.


* * *

Dreaming of a boat

Standing
on this dark shore
I lift my eyes
across the abyss
to You;
worried about the broken shells
that speckle my path
to you with light and pain,
aware of the distance
I must travel,
anxious about getting in over my head
I remain transfixed
drinking in the light
and dreaming of a boat
that won't require me to row
or even to step in.


* * *

Bloggers in the queue

Gods or goddesses,
emperors or exotic dancers --
each has a unique stance,
a unique voice,
a unique call,
a unique opportunity
to be heard, to serve,
to dance -- however briefly --
on the stage that is life.
We line up on the subway,
clinging to the straps,
bracing as the train first slows,
then stops,
eagerly awaiting our chance
to explode onto the platform
and declare the day's truth.


* * *