dissolving

bright Tuesday morning, luminous
sky, the sun not yet above
the hill -

I open the window to hear the
woodpecker drum on the tree nearby,
birds are loud in the garden, grass
white with frost, frosted earth,
bird bath is ice -

cold start to the day my heart says,
try to keep quiet, not reach
for the easy switch - buds
on the plants and trees:  promise
of colour, warmth, a time to flower.

Schemes and plans in the head -
so much to be doing, so little
time, no wind out there,
only foreign air, and inside
the fridge of my spirit, where
all the dead lie, no eyes

on me to say:  this is not
the way to do things - the singer
sings his song, his own unique
note, sends it out into the world
clear as a bell, ringing
the day in, ringing in
the sun over the hill

O glad breath, beating heart,
all the hopes of a life, a single
being in this gigantic universe:
tiny birds on the feeder know
nothing but hunger
and the births of their young -
gone so soon, an outbreath
on the frosty air, dissolve

to God, to immanence
as does all our care.

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