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The Breath Between

I want to walk between trees,
because today the mystery overwhelms me.

If I cannot know why life,
at least let me sense how
root clutches earth
while branch propels to sky.

If I cannot find reason,
at least let the worn breath which spills from me
feed green purpose.

I do not know what it is to be human.
Make me cedar.
I do not know what it is to be.
Make me fir.

(on permanent display at The Olympia Center, Olympia, WA)


The Flight Training of Dreams

Last night I learned to fly in a headwind.

The usual flight of sleep is gentle joy, the night’s sweet gift.
I glide over topmost branches, above the balm of moss.
A small act of faith lifts me from earth,
a slight shift of will changes course.

But last night I soared far above the familiarity of treetops,
         high in blue,
when of a sudden
the wind that carried me began to blow hard against me.
My efforts to stay aloft beckoned my doom.
I did not know it
         but my will to live was killing me.

Then a twist.
My body flipped from my control
without even the choice of surrender.

Feet first.
Arms limp.
Beyond fear.


Vegetable Gardening Guide

In good dirt with bare hands
cradle the seed
in season and in light.

Water with diligence,
weed with persistence.
Yield to time.

Time yields ripeness.
On that day with gentle hands
gather food.
(Hum while washing.)

Eat the life that gives you life,
that lets you cradle with bare hands
in season and in light.






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