I felt it in the water

and saw it on the sunrise,

something shifting

within the same horizon.

.

The unsettling I feel

is like the excitement of a child

with a wrapped present;

the gift is in the tearing away.

.

I hear whispers in songs

I thought I knew and new music

pouring into me

from surprising places.

.

A sweetness is growing

within, spilling into my days

like a refreshing breeze

across an eternal spring.

.

Though leaves are falling,

I am lifted beyond what I know

or care to understand

and that is finally ok.

A few days ago
two rainbows brushed across
a late day sky

it seemed nobody else noticed
so I wondered if they were…
no, they couldn’t possibly be…

not meant for me.
Not in a million years.
Or have I been waiting that long

for the story to return
from the ancient garden
when we could gaze at the sun

to this cracked vessel I am now?
The sliver of moon
is hanging heavy in the valley

tonight, but there’s a star,
sparkling over running waters,
whispering “let’s not talk of sin…”

I cool my feet in the water
and reach upward for warmth; open,

there is only love

I watch a lot of things

and notice the small bits mostly,

which is frustrating

when I have to look up names and towns

of wars or inventions.

I like knowing what a person is feeling

when they’re raging or writing or walking-

is it a painful step forward or a hunger

for mashed potatoes with way too much butter

or is it melancholy for missing

the softness of touch or is it simply

curiosity about what birds

may really be thinking

or wondering is there’s such a thing

as a sentient stone

and why do we imagine how people kiss

when we watch them talk (or is that just me);

are there smaller things no notice

or are we not meant to examine

our interactions with the world

on a subatomic level or

are there larger things with more importance

than kissing, rage, and potatoes?