Finally, Haiku

Fresh snow, overdue
invitation to climb up
into the forest.

Post-holing, we have
the wrong shoes.  We don’t mind.  Sun
between the branches.

Different stages
of freeze and thaw ~ waterfall,
raging stream, our feet.

Ice trail leads into
the belly of a mountain ~
if this cave could talk.

Pre-adolescents
notice the sacred, feel how
large the story is.

By the river that
could carry us away, our
hands in our pockets.

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Autumn Invitation Haiku

Come to me, sweet words.
Fill the spaces in the trees
where the leaves once were.

Paint the sky with a
high white cloud, paint me open
with golden brushstrokes.

Snake in easy, like
a low autumn river. Fill
this pond of longing.

Brief Walk

For twenty minutes today
I walked in the sunshine
and it was enough,

this body like a rind,
with something sweet inside,
and no less compostable.

I have known love,
the touch of a mouth,
and I too have tasted.

We are not the sum
of what we have been,
nor the story of what

we will be. We are
the wind on skin, the scent
of melting snow turned

to clay, the ears
through which to funnel
birdsong. The horses

walk across the pasture
to meet me. I see something
in their eyes that reminds

me of something old,
or the part of myself
that I have always known.

My eyes are
a many colored screen
on which a life projected

flickers with a song
and then dissolves
to blackness.

Beyond the Ruins

In a morning desert
where the red rocks hang
from the misty remnants
of last nights storm,

up and up
between the
shrouded clouds
and into the silent blue,

the canyon opens
like the ancient mouth
and whispers the thing
that you have always known.

And so you
stop to listen
as if your life
depended on it,

which certainly it does,
then mount your
wheeled horse and pedal fast
over rocks and sand,

as the world behind you
disappears into the revelation
of a perfect yellow
winter sun.

Inside, Out

This is the season for rivers,
swollen and rambling,
the time for roses

pink and wild,
for sagebrush,
and the air

pungent with beginning.  It is
the afternoon
of the chipmunk scrambling

and the raincloud
raining, the hour
for the resting of muddy shoes

and perhaps,
for napping.  Today
is making the space for noticing,

and in noticing,
finding the spaces
for love.