About the light

What is it about the light --
even this light,
dappling, as it does,
this dull clay wall,
these random roots --
that, on a morning after
one of those nights
when silent tears
have stained a pillow
in the darkness,
brings reassurance, and hope,
and makes my heart
leap?

Those loving eyes

Sometimes,
though not often enough,
my camera sees
with different eyes,
and even something simple --
a splash of birdlime,
a tissue-thin slice
of seaweed
tossed upon an aging step --
appears to have
a grace and beauty
all its own.


And then I see
that all our desperate posturing --
the many tricks we use
to present ourselves
as appearing to have more value than we suspect exists --
will never hide us from those loving eyes --
and might
even
prove
unnecessary...

Made in the image

Why --
when the dog barks
and I look out my window
to see what set him off
and spot instead
the moon,
lifting her golden bucket
and pouring streaks of light
across the lagoon --
why do I not step outside
to sit on my bench
and drink that liquid joy?


Why reach for a camera,
when I know it can't begin
to capture the color
that sings through all that light;
can't begin to capture the wonder of that first sighting?
Or is it enough
to grab a glimpse,
a frail and faulty image,
so that seeing we might imagine
the truth that lies behind --
much as we,
seeing other beings
made in the image of God,
can begin to imagine
the Truth that lies behind...

Why be enemies?

Though you lean to the right
and I the left,
we both derive our energy
from the same blue sky,
so why
be enemies?

Though the color of your skin
is all washed out compared to mine,
we're both standing
on the same ground,
so why be enemies?

Though we're differently molded,
we're both made of the same stuff,
so why be enemies?


Though your path
seems quite straightforward
while mine's been quite confusing
and complex,
both paths in some way fuel
the lives around us --
so why be enemies?

And face it:
neither of us controls
-- or even knows --
when the Great Disconnect
will finally occur.
Could we not co-exist til then
in harmony?
Why be enemies?

Ode to a Gosling

The tenderness with which these arms enfold
a baby goose, adopted by a stranger
gives us a taste of Your love, which must hold
each heart protected, safe from mortal danger.

The troubles that befall us when we're young
and form all our behaviors as we grow,
need not become a cage, but perhaps a rung
upon a ladder, or seeds that You sow

to bring us to fruition, given time,
and grace, and conscious rumination;
a structure, not restrictive, but sublime
through which each one can reach life's culmination.

Rage not against the chains which keep us bound
but see them as the loss which leads to found.

No pain, no gain

Picture your back, she said,
as a wooded shoreline,
and with each breath,
imagine
new green shoots of wonder
growing there:
flourishing, healthy.
And, she said, after a pause,
with each breath out
the dead branches and the rocks
are loosening up
and falling into the sea.


But wait, I thought --
if all the rocks
were to fall into the sea,
the hillside would be gone,
and with it the trees,
who'd have no place
to spread their roots.

At last, she said;
at last you see -- we need the pain
to keep us grounded,
to keep us rooted in our bodies.
Pain has much to teach us:
Don't run away, but sit --
sit and listen for the lessons.
Breathe in those new green shoots
and let them root and grow
in what you learn.

A moment's glow

Caught in a patch
of late-afternoon sun,
the tulips on the kitchen counter
glow with a light of their own,
and in so doing, cast a shadow,
carving in black
upon the marbled surface
a temporary testament.

For one brief moment
they take the center stage
and all of us,
standing in the room,
remark upon the glow
and then move on,
shifting with the light
into whatever's next --

the sifting of some flour,
the stirring of a soup,
a handful of blueberries
brought in from the garden;
turning our attention
to a new savoring --
a blue burst of sweetness
or the setting sun,
bringing a blush
to the cheek of a distant mountain.

Moments later, turning back,
we find the tulips tame again,
the light distributed evenly,
all shadows gone.
The marbled counter
dwindles to mere formica,
the oven timer dings
and dinner is served.