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Tag: transition
December 14, 2017
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Late October
Autumn Lake
Late September, standing waist-deep, steaming from the sauna, I can feel the lake becoming ice, though it will be a month or more before it freezes over.
November Forest
No trumpets
Approach awareness of God
cautiously. Like waking in a dream.
There are no trumpets. The light is vague.
Ignore the weight of your wings
as you climb the stairs, wade to the window.
Gargoyle crouch on the stone-damp ledge
between landscapes. Listen; spider
dangling-drop-spins into an empty nest.
Between wingtips
Free-fall tumbling
howling reaching grasping.
Finally exhausted;
between wingtips.
How were we to know?
Wings
Ice on the river
turns to mist, returns in dawn’s
blue light. Like awareness,
comes and goes. Always
here there. Waiting not waiting.
To be seen. Not seen.
Passions
We find. Grip and squeeze. Paint our faces dance
grow feathers and fly. Preoccupy. Become.
Obsessed. Forgotten.
Sound of saltwater licking dark stone,
bleached white roots and branch. Drift and sway.
Skin shed. Antlers dropped damp and spotted green.
Rusty spikes. Tin cans, porcelain shards and bottles.
That drawing on the wall. This poem.
These words. Beach-glass and broken shell strung
on fishing line or binder twine and worn
around the neck
for one meteor-showered moment.
The woodpecker’s beat
Words fall like the last brown leaves
of autumn. Slowly. The forest from epic to haiku.
Between letting go and landing. Where are we then?
Let’s tap our feet to the woodpecker’s beat.
Watch. Wait. Maybe dance to keep ourselves warm.
Dancing on Frozen Beaver Ponds 