Untitled 3/19/2012

It is not a watchword to remember,
not a mantra.
It is a vision that you found
around a turning in the trail,
of the ending of a trail
at a place you had not seen since childhood;
of a finally permissible rewinding
to a clear and happy state
of early grace, and of unexpected understanding
that the way is somehow clear,
and a waking in the heart
like morning, or a gentle coming home.

March 19 2012

Finn and Blanket

The Wind Brought This

The wind brought this, a singing day,
to us to live with ease.
Wings populate the trees
with children's chatter.
Nothing is their matter
but to report returning life,
the sheathing of winter's knife,
and in it all, the bounding dogs will play.

March 8 2012

Finn on a Blanket

Finn in a Blanket

It Was So Awakening

It was so awakening
in the fragile returning sun for him, I knew.
The detail of the dazzling shallow running water 
and the sand and shell beneath, I saw,
and the thrilling of his senses
in his  intimate examination of the marsh grass
warm, and rich with heady odors of the thaw
was also mine. 

How the unfamiliar brightness remembers for us
the rapture of the small,  
the focus down to these few early blades
and the pebbles in the stunning newborn light
and the staggering ants that crawl beneath,
new citizens of a rediscovered world,
too dazed, like us, to more than stand and breathe.

March 2 2012