Behind the mask of summer
sun, the green rush of spring, 
the peace of winter’s silence, 
and autumn’s fiery crown
there are only moments strung together.
Beads on a chain, each as valued as the next;
a necklace fashioned of attention to this day.
What is gone and what will be are links 
fingered lightly while we chant the only word we know:
now, the glue of our daily round, the shining center
from where we came, to which we shall return.

I have been to the Grand Loneliness
Do not think you may 
travel there uninvited
It must call your name
Do not imagine what the terrain is like
You can not
Only the gifts you return with,
richer than the million brilliant things
of this world, will hint
at what has been gained and
what has been lost on such a journey
If you have been 
we can recognize each other
by the dark calm of our eyes
the drumbeat of our hearts
emptied to fullness

 I ran to the river in spring
and the river laughed, “Flow.”
I ambled to the river in summer
and the river urged, “Grow.”
I walked to the river in autumn
and the river cried, “See!”
I arrived at the river in winter
and the river whispered, “Be.”