Beginning

Ninety strangers step slowly,

Single file, through a Rocky

Mountain meadow. It’s six

On a summer morning, sun

Not yet up over the aspens.

Like one body they heed the signal

And stand still for minutes,

Breathing it all in as moon-glow

Soaks and blesses Red Feather Peak.

After a deep marinade

In the moment’s quiet

They turn back

On this narrow path

Looping past each other

With echoes of sweet

Recognition, open

Eyes receive the welcome

Of friends and dawn’s

Unending bloom.

Presence of an Absence

Grief, three feet ahead

Of me once more,

Tugs my leather bracelet

With hungry fingers

As we walk and talk

Along the uneven

Sidewalk.

Afternoon in the Smokies

The forest awaits

Your steps, sure-footed

On stones as you cross

The stream roofed

with moss.

Then a sudden stopping

In this rain for day’s

Welcome burst on

Your upturned face.

Hear water’s plop and patter

On leaf and fern

Amidst whispers of mist

And moon as memories

Start to shimmer

And shout,

They’re strung like flags,

Bound in fog

Along an elusive

Mountain top.

A hollowed-out log
stretches into a meadow
noisy with lupine and yarrow.
A single mushroom born
from decay shines
in damp darkness.
As day awakens
a trio of squirrels scamper
inside as the dead spruce,
bathing in birdsong, Summer
heat and a battalion of ants,
smiles down in its core
as the party begins.

Golden State Awakens

This morning as we scampered

along, stepping without thinking

into early light,

the grasses were woven into sheaths

that glowed and kissed the river below

with joyful thoughts of contented times.

Breezes carried the tops of trees

whispering good fortune,

pleasing all who stroll along water’s edge

where children stumble and tumble,

laugh and shout, and hide in twos and threes

behind fat oaks; they’re holding

hands and in their glee and supple bones

know the truth of each moment’s

buoyant speech.

And the golden grasses, trustworthy

witnesses, start to sing their wild prayer

as day deepens into its dance

of color, its wild, intricate design.

Theology Lesson

A suddenness of hummingbird!

then spinning away scrawling

another name for God

'the great giving'

in airborne

invisible ink
before,

like Amelia Earhart,

drifting out

disappearing,

over the blue lake.

  Her Armpits

These twin earths,

hidden

holy lands,

where you, dear sisters of quiet,

read library books

underneath a dark

stairwell,

while in hungry times
this pilgrim's tongue 

returns like an overdue

thief night after night

to lurk and to linger

in your fields

of dank tobacco

of jasmine blooming,

listening for clues.

And your moist lips,

sweet with tea,

wordlessly moving

in secret, together.