There is a field I travel to
Where I lie in the tall grasses
With the earth as my pillow
And she sings to me through
           the shuddering trees.

Her voice , so wistful,
Brings me to tears --

And the wildflowers whisper:
There is light in everything,
         They say. The proof is in the
Dawn and all around you --
In the scrub pines and their
Noisy seminar of birds;
In the taste of a plums juicy flesh;
In mist rising in the far-off hills.

Sunrise and all that follows
Is how you know:
        Eternity is yours and
                always close--

We cruised down the Seine
        on the Bateaux Mouches
        you and I
You gave me your coat
It was starry-cool that night
We stood on the deck
        and sipped Remy Martin
Your love still alive then --

We sat at the cafe
Where Hemingway paused
        back in the day
Remember the gray-muzzled dog
        lapping spilled cognac
        under the table
You looked into my eyes
        With joy's surprise --

That warm sun-love day
        on the Champs d'Elysees
You leaned in and kissed my hair
I knew you would never leave
I tipped a mime along the way
Who hid his face with a hat
        How fresh was that
Paris was never more beautiful --

We roamed the Latin Quarter
And drank bordeaux in our room
You couldn't resist me --
How was I to know
        you would go away
Without a word to say
Leaving our postcards
Scattered 'cross the bed
I should have burned them
        all that night
Instead of clutching them
To my heart --

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