We take dawn for granted
Not the wood thrush
He had no way of knowing
If it would come again

When you take to your canoe,
Avoid deep water
Instead, slide slowly long the shore
Hide beneath the hanging oak
Wait upon the show

There lie places of abundance
Transitions
Wake to sleep
Life to death
Water to earth to air

The spider taken by the wasp,
The pointless web remained
Betrayal for the butterfly

There is a silence these spring nights
No human god can fill
I’ve listened faithfully at dark
To hear their lonesome trill
But now I know it’s past the time
For return of the Whip-poor-will

An endless ramble
Through an empty ancient wood
With your soulmate dog
On a cool morning
The universe complete

The Sourwoods sway akimbo
Beneath the windswept Pines
Oh, but to be a scampering squirrel
Joining their dance divine!

Why do we write?
Why read, why share?

Poems are stories
Stories of our terrors and triumphs
Our love and loneliness

Candles calling to each other
Allowing us to huddle in the dark

When a man comes to you
And tells you your own story
Then you will know that your sins are forgiven

Ernest Kuntz and Katherine Ketcham
The Spirituality of Imperfection
1992