All It Can Be, and: The Sound of the Spirit, and: The Shadow of a Mountain, and: Winter Is Close

All It Can Be

for Whit Griffin

The best questions     dropped out of school

Gratitude like a dog waiting

To protect its silence     a stream tunes itself       over time

Everything earned inside     is hard to describe       like prayer or reverence

I follow the quiet     deeper into my daydream

Sometimes conflicting values are more approachable than virtue

Human noise reduces bird habitat—     imagine that       happening in reverse

Marvelling is the view with few words

To have to measure up is a sad level     it is beyond our hands

Walking resonates through the feet     up into the mind

But how exactly do I describe to you the joy of finding     a cricket in the bathtub—       like a wave of applause         soaking through me like rain?

The Sound of the Spirit

for my mother

One must adjust anguish slowly to oneself Grow into it until the comfort is wearable

You do what you have to

Stop to watch the motion of cold shadows outside the bedroom window

I know it is more complicated— this focus on the familiar cycles of light

But what is the message the truth expressed except worn remembrance

The first thing you do is get dressed

The second go out on the back porch and listen

The Shadow of a Mountain

Upstream, the current is shallow

Deftly turning them over, I have observed rock bottoms like flowers

The flowing water carries a leaf on its surface

Face the wind let it wind through your shirtsleeves

Pine trees hold wings until they rise and disappear

from your enchantment Dragonfly jaws work sideways

side by side in a row The way of engagement is slow

Snow sometimes hides it in a boy’s pockets or

a girl’s kite rising with the sun

So much splendor stuns the grounds of my acquaintance

with rock bottom

A rocky road through a picture-perfect day

Winter Is Close

Winter is close   and mateless

Night, pensive—   pressed Eyes, deep glens of old thoughts

My pillow   a moon vigil

Words fall and root Words grow glorious bodies

Time’s dearest deity is desire Desire, fervent and steadfast

Steadfast and eternal