My line of sight is broken
by the leaning tree
I cannot see the universe.
This short-sightedness
an inborn malady
but still the red-headed sparrow
perched on a nearby branch
in its small simple beauty
gives me a glimpse
and makes me grateful
to be an earthling.

I wonder if I will ever know real satisfaction
until I get to the other side
of the moment when I run out of time.
Is this life but an appetizer
and all I can hope for
is to be occasionally
surprised by joy?

It is a worthy mercy
to take up temporary residence
in another's suffering body
by listening.

The smell of new rain
permeates the air
the first heavy drops raise little puffs of dust
in the dirt.
Covered porches protect her
from the storm outside
and the dread inside
where benign neglect reigned
ennui and death strained
children’s hearts
threatened to pull apart
the joy sleeping in their wondrous souls
that lived beyond the confines
of the dark brooding grip of family
inside the ancestral home.

Here among the trees
leaves, birds and bees
breathing in summer air
the sun embraces me
into its life-giving energy
I feel loved
and part of the great mystery
each day is a homecoming.

Here I can just be me
fearing no judgement
or condemnation for my sins
but pure acceptance
and bliss.

This day, each day
is my birth day.

In snowy peaks
and gray valleys
grassy plains
and lower back pain
the falls
and rivers of grief
thorny branches of the bois d’arc tree
the womb
of a lily or a lady
pioneers and sinners
losers and winners
on the road
in the heart of home
what you imagine
and what you dream.

I am on the tense edge of fatigue
its gray snare
its numb mute grip
squeeze out  
my vigor.