If I could connect 
to the rivers under the streets,
swim to the sea,
I would jump in.
 
Too far removed
from my childhood 
faith, too long 
in the habit of questions,
 
I want something to pray to,
therefore I pray
 
not so differently
from the man 
with his head pressed
to the concrete beside a tree,
 
his greasy hair falling forward,
his backpack and plastic bag dropped nearby, 
as if he’s found scripture 
written on a manhole cover, 
 
as if we could map our way back
to the common good.
                        

With a different history 
I could not rest by the river
where two boulders lean over the water,
held back by a tree 
they collided into years ago. 
 
Neither could I bathe by starlight 
in a private garden,
only a little spooked by woodrat or raccoon
scrabbling and snarfing in the dark, 
or walk naked to the cottage 
screened by rhododendron, 
hot water steaming from my skin. 
 
The grove of olive trees,
the path leading into dusty foothills,
have not been spoiled for me. 
 
Not a question of beauty 
or the lack of it, but of luck, 
never to have met someone twisted enough.
 
By a creek in the woods 
a flicker of movement 
and there she is, 
upwind of me, 
fifteen feet away, cougar 
I’ve been seeking for decades. 
She doesn’t see me 
as she comes my way. 
Only when I stand and shout 
does she lift her head 
to stare into my eyes.
 
Never have I had to fight 
to keep my life
or surrender 
to keep some of it.
With cougar or with bear don’t run. 
With human keep on talking
so he’ll see you as no threat,
submissive maybe, someone 
he doesn’t need to kill.