bushes, a few trees, stones on a slope of land
ruins of a church remain in that ground
birds, squirrels, a fox chatter back and forth
people murmured quietly outside the doors
easy to find the one but the other
lies beyond the casual attentional field
to see hear and feel through the quantum
to experience more of the whole
let your heart open in deep rapt attention
worth effort, worth time, worth care
be curious be brave be bold
this is the time of dormancy, land fallow the sun likewise
trees skeletal against a washed out sky, leaves abandoned seasonal dreams
the wet cold ground their resting place
corvids the most visible birds, except for the clock of the overhead geese
rain becomes snow becomes rain again, the demarcation of daylight blurs
when the clock reads 10pm, it startles both body and mind
somnolence seeming the natural state
the world hushed and silent as it rests in that brief gap
between inhale and exhale, winter the inspiratory pause
as a child I asked the wisest person I knew
how do we know the sky is blue
not pink or green or grey or black
because sometimes it is those
is this merely an agreement some group made
amongst themselves and then all followed
why does it have color at all
being a collection of things not a thing itself
the wise man being extremely wise
gave no answers but sat with me
and together we gazed at the changing colors of the sky
why call the cloudless sky and bright sun deceptive
more so than the chilling cold or the bitter wind
winter’s storms have been traveling the mountains
even without these the time to don warmer clothes
build nighttime fires pile blankets on beds has arrived
so look instead at your own mind before casting blame
on weather that happens as weather does
let the judgment rest where it should and ask
which of these lies within my control
then put on a coat next you leave the house
stand with outstretched arms
fill one hand with lowering grey clouds
massed at the bottom of the hill
pull the sodden darkness
with the other reach towards sunlit sky
breaking over the ridge
draw the glowing warmth
these two meet within your clasped hands
their interplay before you
one two three breaths
the empty road glistens in the rain
that one tree kept some leaves scattered through its branches
to catch that certain slant of winter light from a setting sun
making those leaves glitter so brightly golden
they dimmed nearby artificial trees in shabby comparison
that three people saw this arboreal illumination
and by this brief sight became joined in awe
connected now in common knowledge of natural glory
strangers no more but fellow residents of the same world
let me always look for these events
for they are ever present and will save me
let this be enough
let me remember to see
this place is shouting louder than ever
commands in a language that is not my own
celebrate this right now right here (or else)
who would not want to join in the festivities
hymns carol in stores and restaurants
a red-suited jolly old figure greets all at town hall
ornamented trees stand in public spaces, even on a theater roof
a themed parade shuts down Main Street and scares my dog
attendance is optional this year; what about next
red green and white everywhere alongside red white and blue flags
now mandatory for homes vehicles businesses
the air thinner than ever for those who are otherwise
it’s getting harder to breathe
when I travel the rough paved roads
ones faced by metal doors and delivery docks
I no longer stumble on the broken curbsides
my gait undone by my broken heart
once I grieved on those back corners
cried in the rain so no one saw my tears
unexpected strangers shared my burden
let their hearts break open with mine
these exchanges proving prior connection
subterranean tug and flow of outpoured love
drew away selfish cold isolation
ceaseless buffet of harsh afflictions
now I carry in my pockets bits of sorrow
transformed by compassion’s embrace
drop them among the rocks on the street
reminders of level kinship between us
no I no you no they no we
and always the memory of her luminous smile
his gentle welcoming gaze
two oil paintings with a familiar signature
the artist a familial friend
now they rest in a stranger’s garage
thrown carelessly against some boxes
to him they mean nothing
to me they are so much more
warm salty air and a peculiar swampy fug
a studio perched on the edge of a gulf bluff
the path overhung by mossy cypress trees
a refuge offering magic to a hungry child
I could tell you what I’m not
a wizened tree at the edge of an untended field
branches extended like twisted arthritic fingers
just over the rusted barbed wire fence
that marks where someone tried to farm
a rotting boat half submerged in the swamp
planks slowly giving way to slimy years
on a bank sticky with gumbo clay
unnoticed by nutria on their nocturnal climb
I would be lying of course
I have been each of these in the past
even now they live in my bones my skin
if you were to close your eyes and remember
you would find they dwell in you
and when you stare unguarded into the mirror
gaze upwards into the clear night sky
look into the white of winter snow
you see my eyes the leaves the wooden mast
briefly all boundaries dissolve
into rainbow laughter that shimmers the all