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My Neighbor Tells About Hard Decisions

 
mornings here are never dull
I found a man so lost and covered with snow
the man was snow and his horse had fallen
in a chest high snow and could not move
 
the horse was begging to die with its eye
they had tried to beat the storm
but sunlight had glanced off snow
and it was blinding
 
I could shoot the horse or the man
these choices can quiet a person
we forget how storms can sneak up
and take us with a snap of a finger
 
it is the storms inside us that are dangerous
where we stand in life
or hardness judges us and one freezes the heart
shattering like icicles while the other tells who we are
 
mornings are never dull
snow is moving as an eye with snow blindness
the horse notices the quiet glancing off the hills
I stare at hard decisions
 
I have a gun and a finger frozen on a trigger
a snowfall of choices
we are judged by actions
decisions can sneak up and freeze the heart





Motivation
                           *
There is no comfort when all the sparrows
flap their wings as one; my delicate remembrance,
weeping — we do not understand motivation — 
 
Love undermines us
with a morning of complete darkness
as a great tiredness seizes everyone.
 
                          *
 
Like a veil of light,
a butterfly landed on my head.
I held my breath.
 
If not for its shadow,
I would not have known its presence — 
its wings settling into dreams.
 
Finding stillness,
releasing uncertainty — 
entire small worlds could fall apart.
 
Someone else can have restlessness.
I want the quiet to hear stars.
When the butterfly departed, it took me too.
 
                         *
 
Swimming through the breakable surface
as if it was the last day,
I saw skylight blend into land,
 
touch the reflection of shadow
from unexpected clouds — 
regrets eclipsing the sun.
 
This is what happens when we are not here.
Pardon us for missing this surrendered life.
Our longing is that of weeds in wind.
 
We believe a few words are enough;
however, there are never enough words
plopping the surface and rippling outwards.
 
                          *
 
There is a sliver of movement
under the dark underbelly of small ferns.
What cannot be seen cannot harm anyone.
 
Memory follows like distant thunder,
then a glimpse of longing whirs
either bad dreams or smothers voices.
 
Tiny creatures create this caution
in burning rain — 
this is the lost world of comfort.
 
Memory is an all-day downpour.


 

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Forest Fire
 
1.

fire begins wispy
as a woman’s loose hair
in spring flush winds
 
no one in a fire tower sees it
the secret of flame
is within each immense forest
 
all pine and oak and elm knows combustion
and holding back and all it needs
is spark all it needs is that hunger
 
it requests turbulent winds
over miles searching for its end
all smoldering with invisible truth
 
anger is a messenger without a voice
all the meanings of darkness
separate the prepared from the unprepared
 
2.
 
this is the discernment of the temporary
whether it is wind or luck or fragile breath
this is the unspooling of life into death
 
then afterwards there is the cooling off
smoldering uncertainty then choosing
between recovery or more destruction
 
and still later after ash goes cold as some lover  
small trees make their way
because if left alone the forests can return
 
there is this scything even when we die
leaves generations following
some with green spirit awakening





Summons
 

we could wait for messages
but this is all we get
 
a gathering of geese
fly out past this page in life
 
I stood in the back yard
left behind
 
but a part of me
follows that calling
 




On a Rainy Day
 
 
there are times when morning rains in
the windows beg for more than gray light
we notice
we have lost a day somewhere
yearning does not do any good
 
it is the same as following a path
narrowing into disappearance
waiting for help in an isolated area will not help
ducks can glide down all they want
but if there is no marsh there is no water
there is no shelter for foolishness
 
when a sudden storm races faster than sound
all anyone can do is wait it out
all anyone can do is remain calm
 
sadness works that same slow way





Near Dawn
 
 
a fawn emerges from a thin wall
of sound into the waves of air like sparks
breaths from stars
across the uneven forest
 
you slept through this
traveling the miles of your stillness
allowing the rest of the world
to know movement is broken branches 
 
far out on a stream
there is yearning
from the wide unexplored
whirls of sunlight
 
at the other end more wildness
more gasp more we do not know
or can ever expect to learn
we keep tugging at ends of the unknown