Little twist of hope in my hands this bird feathered and new flies

behind my eyes,  a girl sits with a smile

how simple to be peaceful, how simple to be a smooth pebble but still a sturdy rock

Bless this earth and the people that feed you
The sun that bathes you in light
Bless all teachers that labor with love

Bless this very moment that holds you
How I love you , even as time goes on

Bless the continuation of all their wisdom
because it all amounts to love

To love we kneel And grasp in awe at how it holds up the planets and the stars

And then the flood is said to make the land

slide towards the lowest point

a point lower than fire

a point where your home survives flames

only to be resurrected and buried in soil in

the mud of this earth

It finally started raining, here

in Los Angeles and the first thing we did

was so careless step outside looking

at each other smiling my brother and I

realized that the droplets on our clothes

were carrying the round muck of ash

every day you bcomer kinder


and the slopes of the past are so sheer


that their old painful attendants slide down


without hindrance to you


your grappling with deep emotions that felt


murky or endless now become your helpers


you can understand and lend a hand


it is yours and you smile because


you can and nothing is too far out of reach


everyday you get closer

Earth is a beautiful place to love and to be loved. To take in a breath and calm the racing of an otherwise anxious heart. To burrow into its crust of time your home, unrepeatable it is this particular morning, this passing into night. Dance to rejoice that earth is your mother. No one can undo this: no man, government, or line drawn with a wooden stick of childish silliness. however much they try you dance for earth is your home. Earth takes a breath, and you, like the magnolias, the jacarandas, and the mesquites, breathe with it. All must know that this here is your home.

The sun rose and with the birds and with you
scooped up in its light
you who toggle out of bed

the sun rose and the plentitude of steps
to the kitchen counter for water become
morning pilgrimages murmuring sweet thanks even when your mind  cannot articulate
its daily gratitude of satiating
your body’s needs

you write about everything because everything is life and so even this still peaceful morning deserves a poem, a morning drink of water.