one month isolation
now there is time
to witness winter melting
to sit and listen to icicles drip
to watch snow go to water to wind
and yet
there is still not enough time
to do all that should be done
the hours are filled by so much less now
we forget how to be busy
accept going slow
isolation/grief
so many small sadnesses
including putting away
this last filled fieldbook
closing our adventurous chapter
staring down rows and rows
of weeks of going nowhere
feeling like we failed
to do what we said we would
so many plans scattered
in the flurry of leaving
if only I believed in the kind of god
who wanted me to submit
and trust his plan
having most options wrenched away
would be easier to accept
but beyond all these petty disappointments
we’re alive
and grateful
and past caring for little else
quarantine
every day longer and slower
than the last
filled with even less
the sun conspires
stays up even later
with a narrower lens
morning invocation
today the world is sweet
my eyes can and do open
hands clasp
tongue speaks
lips smile
I inhale the breath of trees
and exhale desert wildflowers
blooming at the slightest sign of rain
here we are
all having hit the jackpot
here on this same swirled sphere
together at this very moment
we draw breath
and open to hear the universe call out
a way to ease pain today
and we will
not shopping
almost a month
since I set foot in a store
probably the longest time in my life
except maybe college
(but I don’t think so –
College and Variety
Luigi’s and the Bookstore
Nothing but the Blues and Shaw’s
got a little of me here and there)
one month of gazing at the woods:
a terrible way to get better
the sleeping fox
when the horizon
is too filled with disaster
I train my internal eye
on the image of a sleeping fox
we watched him climb
the hill behind our house
on a day when
most of our world had melted
there in the warm
russet-brown of the pine duff
he circled then curled,
a fiery fluff of warm fur
lit by early spring sunshine
he knew nothing of our worries
and simply slept sound
and I watched in thanks
for the proof of a being
who could still dream
simple safe dreams
limbs loose, mind at ease
shut
these are the days of closing doors
cutting off connections
cordoning off wards
identifying and isolating
the smallest unit you hold dear
slide the pocket door into the void
close the border
abandon the gate
leave your post
wring your own hands and none other
don’t open the post
don’t shake on anything
we’re all going inside very dark spaces
sitting quietly
with only a small candle’s glow
learning slowly bitterly desperately
how rich life was
when anyone could barge in
and disturb our peace
triggers
the triggering subject:
the proximal cause
setting your pencil moving
putting words in your mouth
and a bee in your bonnet
the generated subject:
the image that emerges from the ache
the harm that won’t be undone
the pain that makes it all personal
the meaning to your being here now
with something to say
and a need to be heard
let me be brave enough
to line up all these daily triggers
sharp and dangerous as daggers
all the goings-on that pierce my consciousness
and follow each one a step further
uncovering the wound each tears wider
until my fingers can probe it
pack it with a poultice of runes
then hold my warm hand over it
til it heals well
snowsmoke
in the white woods
veils of snowsmoke
descend like drapes
unfurling from conifer crowns
cascading with a flourish and fizz
that sets the whole atmosphere asparkle
heightens the drama
anywhere you look
a cloud of crystals
may breathe down your neck
the very next moment
magical shimmer
and cold uncomfortable reality –
that’s how it is these days –
you gotta find a way
to make room for both
