Forbidden by mom to climb
onto the roof of our house,
mischief prevails
and we do so the minute
she drives away.
20 minutes later my chum
Rich and I leap together
from great heights
onto the lawn below.
Like holy fools caught
with hands in the church
collection plate
we erupt laughing
in midair
as mom turns into the driveway.
12 year old rascal saints
flying halfway between heaven
and earth with hell possibly
not far behind.
60 years later
the memory blossoming
wings to paradise.
Like that potholed washboard road
he traipsed along, boots caked
with dust, lips cracked tingling
gladness under noontime sun,
he's been scraped so clean
by Life herself that nothing
this moment was missing
and only a shimmering
audacity remained.
May speech of stones,
songs of birches,
whispers of streams
and dance of sunlight
across the meadow
of your body
and oceans
of your mind
carry you forth
through this threshold
into your heart's
tender courage
and the next seasons
of your flourishing life.
Grandson Quincy's chocolate-
tinged lips and sweet brown
eyes staring up at his gramps
half awake, holding
this first cup of coffee
and remnants of rising steam
from what remains
of last night's dream.
Listening within without
precondition may you
be so graced to
hear the speech of stones,
witness dancing clear
waters, taste
spacious sky's glory
through innocence ablaze
in shut-tight, wide-open
eyes.
Let's keep plunging for pearls,
feasting on oranges and pomegranates,
preparing for arrival
into that river
of silver and light.
