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This weekend Cohen's coming home is the music
I needed to hear, to feel; going home without my sorrow
Going home tomorrow.
Going home with a lamp fixed, as well as any thoroughly
Broken thing can be fixed. Going home to where it is
Better than before.
Going back to let the light between the cracks, able
To let Light in again. Going home without my burden,
Just going home.
The sky this evening is exquisite,
The cloud cover beautifully patterned,
Colors just perfect.
A lovely contrast with lavender clouds
Over the palest of viridian overlaid with rose
Lining the horizon.
I can sit here every evening, and mostly do.
Entranced with the specatacle before me and
Memory of you.
Within the sound of surf, I am
These presious days, at a friend's
Fine beach house.
Within the sound of surf, I stay
In a serene room listening, feeling
The pounding surf.
Within the sound of surf, I let
The fullness of space come through
Heart and soul.
In that corner of the field three deer startled, leap
Into the pine stand, white tails flagging, quickly
Out of sight.
But not hearing, as brush crackles beneath hooves
And breath snorts in huffs from their exertions,
Then all quiet.
Except the hum of combines a mile across the river,
Of small birds chittering over golden bean fields, of
My heart thumping.
A wee bit past midnight, to our friends' daughter
A boy was born. The spoon you carved her first born
Is very treasured.
Hearing of this birth, I did pick up your tools, your wood,
And honoring past ans present, did carve a spoon for
Jaxson, Aidan's brother,
St. Paul declared "Love" the highest of three spiritual gifts:
Faith, Hope, Love. I have read St. Agustine saw "Hope" the greatest
Of these gifts,
Saying Faith assures us that God is, and Love tells us God
Is good, but Hope tells us God will continue to be among us and
Work God's will.
And Hope has two lovely daughters: Anger and Courage. Anger so
What must not be, may not be; Courage so what should be, can be."
Anger and Courage.
To have a horse to ride is a sweet and simple pleasure that allows
Me to remember a joy that comes up through youth to you, to rest
In my heart.
Before me is yet a stretch of time, time filled, well...still, when
Alone, uneasily the habit of 'being with' can be so sweet it is
Hard to loose.
Set up, display wares, chat folks up.
It is hot, and not so good for selling paintings.
Company is good.
On this beautiful Friday evening I am seated
Watching the sun flame the sky. The air is
Warm and soft.
Under a canopy deepening through blues,
Under pine boughs lacing patterns, I
Remember and reflect
On a Friday afternoon twenty six years ago,
A day perfect in my mind and heart and soul and
I miss you.
Beneath lucid skies, the sun departs
Leaving sweet colors stretched over head.
Joy for eyes.
Geese are calling to each other and the grackle
Sound of a neighbor's old tractor drifts
Across the fields.
Beyond the fineness that my retinas record,
My soul is fed. Not as with you but enough
To get by.
The difference between grieving and grievance.
The latter perhaps has, seeks time to strike out or
Intentionally to hurt.
In the former, I know, one hurts so badly on a path
So narrow, so treacherous, there is no time to think
beyond a moment.
And I know, also, when time finally expands, it is gratitude
For the treasure remembered that fills one, not wasting
Time on grievances.
