Do you know someone
who suffers humbly
without fanfare or ego?

I know someone like that
who’s a bridge
between my own weakness
and the light beyond.

How brilliant
this rescue
this simple span.

In early dawn I watch
the syncopating rhythm
of yellowing elm leaves falling,
wounded by an autumn storm
their drifting seems so gentle
but I slept through the storm
its violence ripping off a limb.
There is no healing of this feud.

I loved that limb and its bird feeder.
Is my small grief wasted
or does it cling to my soul
in tiny measure
to deepen it
like forgiveness after a marital tiff?

It is the cool of the predawn morning
and I lay in my bed
your peace settled into me
in spite of the troubles that awakened me.
Here in these moments
you tip toe into my bedroom
and lay beside me
your being so soft and peaceful
I hardly notice your presence.
But this is so typical of you, my Lord.
You do not arrive with bombast
of the need to be noticed
as I have done the largest measure of my life.
You are the Great Mystery.
I have seen your silhouette laying upon the mountains
in the gray and orange twilight of the west.
You are all around me
in the deep layers of being.
You are there in storms
with your lessons for my species
that we ignore to our detriment.

Still you do not force Yourself upon us
but always free us from constraints
allowing us to say no to You with alacrity.

But I am humbled by your silent soft presence
early this Sonday right here in my bed beside me
awakened by you again -
You gently inviting my consciousness
into your heart
into your Love.

The days of running and taking two steps at a time
from the first to the fifth floors
now take residence in my memory.
Ah! those agile days
those green days of glory
gracious energetic evenings
mornings of discovery
legs alive with their power
biceps bulging with urgent effort
sensual adventures glistening.

Now fresh challenges await
just as vital and crucial
in a crucible, a cauldron of change
urging me
to union with tallow and elm
a sunrise symphony
of creative awakening
grace of diving deep waters
of a blue and beckoning sea
to the newest version of me.

I pick you up in morning or at noon
you lively volume, you aching heart
your edges worn by probing fingers and thumb
my mind reaches for your inner parts.

I love the word and the wisdom you shine
packed into every corner, every cell
so true to my soul if not in each deemed line
good for my redemption to make me well.

You and your beautiful body are true
you expand the resting ions within
and I rise up to the beyond of you
to see anew the hills and valleys I’ve been.

Between each cosmos we are
we make music with our inner strings
climb through clouds to stars
and on the way make mockingbirds sing.

Your words anchor me and make me fly
ease my sadness and abate my pain
spark a smile or bring tears to eyes
relieve my drought with living rain.

He leans against the old battered lamp post
just as twilight fades away
hands in his pockets
the lamp spills its soft rays on him
as if to assure him there is light left.

His rumpled gray suit
has seen its better days
perhaps in a high rise a few blocks away
it hangs on him like a haunting shadow.

Despair looms in his eyes
a frown droops his pale face
he barely breathes
staring at the drainage grate
just beyond his dusty shoes.
Has his life seeped down into the gutter?

He is bowed by some awful weight.
And I across the street
gaze at him
misty-eyed
waiting
in my own shadow.