When I can no longer discern the path
when I am seeking a seer's looking glass
I walk miles of desert alone, travel years from home
to stand hot or cold, in a wilderness, fragile or strong
in storms, sun sweltered and windblown.
I believe in fire, the burning into ashes reborn
look for defining lines, watch for the telling signs
I listen for the music of words, spoken softly sweet
for love notes, tucked in heart, to keep.

White fleshed the wild roots
cold in caves of soil the bulbs, the tubers
burst through aged brown clay, wet through mud slick rains
sun drunk buds of tulip leaves, petals painted pink
bird chirp and groan of ponds, a soft bedded mossy home
of woven fern and forest fronds, home to night's invisible frogs
white moon dogwood blooms, calls heard lovelorn
through an open window.

In spring, green along the river
amid ancestral foothills, we walk deer trails
wild in the woods of scented pine
of silver sycamores, silken barked
stark, they pale against bluest skies
their new leaves green and glistening
we are listening for songbirds, for a language without words
transfixed, through this portal, reborn in this world
warm winds speak sweet and susurrus of spring
melodious they sing, leaving far behind
the cold, the dead of winter.

For you the woods, the moon
night paths, I breathe the air attuned
treading starlit, I sleep and dream
ever closer my love to you
bright from the sky like stars
ever into your arms I fall
and fall.