Colorado Springs Journal

April 2014

4/14-4/15

We’ve changed, sure, the age part easy after forty years,

now two old men fumbling around dark roads off the airport,

two white beards flapping into morning hours

over wheat beer long gone warm—we’ve changed,

to be sure, but been given more

than the flash of an evening

to figure how much space, time,

really mean between friends—that first meeting of eyes

having already told how little.

**

4/16

Sweet, the light the morning lays among the pines, needle thin

touches of sunglow green against the brown, barren slopes

of winter’s restless waiting for a fickle spring.

Stocking caps, open coats, day packs, pass over cemented walks,

tracing movement toward the endless stretch of high mountain prairie,

matched only by the arced mantle of cloud-brushed, pale blue sky.

Time collects in times like this, mountain sentinels at watch at the edge

as past pushes to present, sends signals to a future just beyond reach

but just there just the same—a soft yet certain immediacy

where regret holds no weight and the simple nod

or bow are the work and the spell of wonder.

**

4/17

The walks are clear at first light,

last night’s snow on porch rails, in patches

on the grass.

High clouds whisper of future blue and the pen

threads thanks for the myriad reasons

that bring me here.

**

Here in Red Rock Canyon Open Space,

where Sand Canyon Trail loops to another

known as Contemplative—where deer watch.

**

The Knowls at Sweetgrass—4/18

At 6,000 feet, boiled water doesn’t hold its heat,

so cups of coffee shouldn’t be let to linger too long.

At 6 A.M., pink brushes the sky, frost the shingled roofs,

and bared branches search the air for signs.

I’ve chanted Buddha’s name many places, many times,

and there’s always a resonance in the chest.

Though it couldn’t be said it’s always the same,

there’s this resonance deep in the chest.

It feels like the sounds of home.

**

Mt. Cutler Trail—6,000-7,200’

Walking slowly up through the rise of red rock,

he says ashes will be dropped here one day—the few

who know now include me—snow falls.

**

Garden of the Gods—4/19

For Kathi

Wheelchairs have their own way,

pulling at times, and at others

needing a push. Either way, though not testing,

they let you know their mind and thus expose to you

your own—strengths and weaknesses

turned in the touch of the same sun

ready the path for the new work—no one let go,

no one left behind.

**

Most always, Pike’s Peak hovers.

Sometimes it hides as passing clouds

find their way around. Sometimes,

on days like today, it glistens

crinkled snowfields,

while along the streets, in the corners

of earth-scratched yards,

trees begin to bud.

**

Easter Morning

As grey turns to light, the sky

restates its promise; as the lamp

behind my head reflects its shadow

in the window looking out, the pine

lets go to stillness; as the petals

of the flowers on the table at my side

open, songs of renewal return;

as the hands of the heart

spread the wish to restore,

old friends dream of healing;

as the scratch of the pen

marks the swirl of prayer,

birds take to the air.

**

North Cheyenne Canyon—for Ted

Gentlemen,

are you brothers,

they asked,

twins?

Yes, we said,

Blood Brothers,

best friends

(different mothers).

**

4/21

The full around completeness of hour

upon hour fully lived

resists even the most well-intentioned

attempt to word—fractured

fragments, restless guesses, flutter

mute—tongue and pen

gone silent—nothing left

old man, but to bow.

**

end note…and yet…

the match in flame is as fire-full

as forest ablaze, water’s drops whole

as ocean, a single breath, a passing thought

complete a silence as sky.

Ask, if you must, where

the moment takes us, but not

what’s missing.