do the trees feel it?
are their boughs heavy  

with the change
and weight of it?

are the clouds concerned?
the ever pressure

of always building
of always seeking release?

do the wings worry about it?
the lean and pull

into onto
the wind?

despite all the responsibility
in

and of
this world

is there anything
anything at all

that is not
possible?

there is a line
between

the songs
of love

and the songs
of grief


this is what the silence said


there is a line  
into out of

the horizon
of earth

and sea
and sky


this is what the silence did

last night the wind had its way  
with this world

it waved and clapped its hands
and skeletons of umbrellas
  
were broken and inoperable
they fell to the wet earth

and were whisked away
it snapped its fingers
  
and bicycles and plant pots
lost their balance

and were unable
to right themselves

take the time
to tamper

with what is wild
be sure

to take your turn
to touch

what is waiting

with the slightest tilt
of its tail feathers

an imperceptible shift
in the weight
  
from one wing
to the other

the subtle bend of its body  
the hawk

made measurements and calculations
about the wind
  
swinging in perfect circles
turning in upward spirals

free and easy  
upon the unseen currents of thermals

then
as if breaking from a meditation

it found a crease in the air
and set out across the dark blue of the lake

i do not know
what will happen next

and my mind
is far too cluttered to care

but i once stood  
and bore witness to a hawk

showing me all
that was possible

it has been one revolution
around the sun
since you became the sun

it has been four sweeps
of the seasons
since you became the seasons

it has been twelve months
of moons
since you became the moon

it has been without measure
since you became

unabraded
address the day

let light shake
and shadow stir

unknot it all
and watch everything

in the world
give into flame

dance relieved
and weightless

and breathe
and breathe
and breathe

i have grown used to the moon
early each morning
waiting there above me

ever growing ever receding
for weeks now
the skies have been perfectly blue

first light prismed in slight violet
lingering just before the breach
of the horizon line

at night the stars
and planets
pierce with warm purpose

a world away
the wolves sing
in the dark woods

a world away
the whales sing
in the deep waters

a world away
we sing
to the ancient music of fire