not likely I’ll know
peninsula light like Jeffers
knew the coast, its stones
its jagged jutting
gripping the light there—and though
a lot might be said,
when it comes to light, who knows
what others may come to know
**
the edge of the bay
water’s air, birds’ lives—smells
to me of freedom
**
grey, like morning’s light
heron’s stillness unfolds
nameless grace
**
the hummingbird lands,
settles, the phone wire still
refusing to move
**
who says dance steps
are too complicated—look
the heron’s lifting foot
**
moon-lit window light
drifts to the floor,
meets my feet
**
a plane drifts slowly
over the trail, to away
dry oak leaves crunch
**
night fog moves like rain—
puddled patios for birds,
watered garden for me
**
the blond woman, young,
speaks German-kissed English
dancing with joy—
everyday things, ordinary
adventures playing on breath
**
—last day of the conference,
a poem for Jack Laws…
sitting waiting
morning’s coming
morning’s coming
waiting no one
morning’s coming
leaving no one
ever behind:
nature’s journal
we are, nature
journaling…
east facing
hillside windows
burst with distant flames…
**
trellis solar lights
disappear on cue—quiet,
unannounced: morning
**
deck boards wet with dew
only bare feet know—shadows
tell sun’s stories
**
the real news is earth
is under foot no matter what
but not waiting
**
luminous quiet—
the settled heart enfolds mind
finding itself home…
**
caught, in the currents
of presentation-prep,
letting go works best
**
don’t aim, never miss—
Ryokan’s admonition
plants our feet here now
**
coyote brush buds
unfold among their leaves, signal
coming autumn
**
ears capture song
by not holding on…
**
how would I want
to leave—well, this way—
bare feet, blue cup coffee,
hilled-horizon and sky
of its own choosing…
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