I awoke this morning
From my little sleep
And the world was still here --
My robe waiting at the end
      of the bed
There on the shelf were books
      to read and in the pantry
      food for my belly --
And outside my window an endless
Gray sky where birds huddled in
The emptying trees, writing songs
Of southbound adventure
As the air hummed and lifted the
Weight of day's beginning --

And me with my small biography,
Stretching into its grace
Once more --

There is still time
To appraise my life
The reasons for love
For song
For breath itself
And at the last
For death --

Where I am going is
Where I came from.

But reaper, if you could,
Keep your distance
For now, I should like
To watch the wind
Stir the trees
A bit longer --

This wandering pen
Has hacked through thickets
And traipsed the borderlands,
Praying in it's cold temples
And crossing its sweet-pined mountains
To find the same riverbank
Where its journey began --

Sleep deepens, bending decades,
And here is my grandmother's
        kitchen --
I am a child again, and
It is just as it was, where
She stands at her table
In a flowered dress with its
Necessary apron, punching
Down dough for bread in her
Consummate way --

And my small heart overflows.

I'm softly humming,
This Little Light of Mine.
She turns around and
I don't know if I'm
Looking at Grandmother
        or God.
They are the same to me.
When I prayed as a small girl,
She answered them and dried
My tears with what felt like
        miracles.

I would stay here,
Dreambound, if I could,
And hug her waist
For the rest of time --

Loking
For love
In
All
Yhe
Wrong
Places

I am at peace in wordless scenes
In the dark hollows of sleep
And in the bright wells of daydreams
Where silence is the gatekeeper
And everything is:
       As it seems --

I trust the places where
       noise cannot enter
Where the air is scrubbed clean
And voices surrender
Their so-called meaning

And I can sit mute in the quiet
       field of being --