The Dream
I had a dream last night
in which I was about to die.
In my dream, I was calm,
detached. I thought,
now that I’m about to die,
what do I need to do?
And then I started to pray.
I woke up from the dream.
A crowd of moments rushed in,
each with their own agenda.
I was again the beleaguered CEO
of a complex biological empire
called myself. I thought,
now that I’m about to live,
what do I need to do?
And then I started to pray.
Wind Chimes
The magnolia blossoms
braid air-balm to earth,
The sky is pale-powdered
with puffs of pellucid clouds,
green preens among brown branches.
The hum of machines, murmurs
of motors mingle with birdsong.
Suddenly a sibilant soprano
breeze strums the wind chimes.
All becomes Zen.
Thoughts Escape Me
My mind is losing things.
Someone has opened a window
and thoughts are soft—fluttering out
into the vastness of sky.
Maybe they will make their way
to Mexico, join a crowd,
cover-crown a tree with colour,
pollinate on the way,
mate and lay eggs.
Maybe they will spin silk threads
to gather up and knit
into a story blanket
and warm a frightened child.
I feed their loss
with the birth of more,
learn that there is no
domestication, just a letting go
into a world that needs
all the wilderness it can get.
The Forest (after David Wagoner)
“The forest knows where you are. You must let it find you.” – David Wagoner
The tatters and tears
of raking exhaustion
catch up at the end of a road
entangled in underbrush.
Where are you going in such a hurry?
Why not stand still, rest a bit?
Maybe climb a tree,
listen for water,
let birdsong grow to canticles,
check the hieroglyphics
left on rock and trunk,
breathe pine and blossom,
let the forest tell you where you are
tell you that you’re not lost
and you never have been.
You may choose to go back
the way you came.
There is no shame in that.
Sometimes backward is forward.
The forest knows this.
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image: Pixabay
