(Thoughts as Skyler Journeys to the Beyond)
Every curve and angle, design and hue
is cast upward from dirt and granted freedom.
I with scant wisdom am humbled.
What can they offer in harrowing times as
wounds of our hearts threaten to
undo even sutures of hope?
You have known that tearing. But I say
the flowers shine forth. They create a music in color.
They grace the gloom with a waltz of unfolding.
They wrap our spirits in a field of goodness and plenty.
Bees find their way there; you see they know the honor.
I have walked among these, their rainbowed
blooms caressing my skin as if they know
such moments have kept me alive.
The slanting light limning wild grasses.
A wind that rattle-dazzles leaves.
Scents of secret life rising at daybreak
and lingering beyond the blue hour.
The flowers, though all exposed beauty, are not afraid.
How much innocence can a person lose
and yet be tugged back by a single petal
that offers itself to eye and nose?
This velvety part, that stem and leaf–
such medicine that I am brought to my senses,
conduits to pulsing numinosity of God.
One day for us all, you know, it
comes down to deep simplicity:
rain or moonlight, root or stone,
feather or beetle or cloud,
a palm cupping sun’s heat–
then circuitous breath, our very breath
seeps out to join the river’s.
And when it is over and discussed
the vivacity of life keeps company
with more under arches of trees.
When I leave, I want what is left
covered with wild flowers and gossamer light.
Transformation leaves what counts,
disperses what does not.
It comes down to usefulness.
Wonderment has carried me to this
and someday, farther.
Here it has all been said and done for you;
you found shock of love, of strife, inertia.
Made of it more, and less.
But this moment between times as we wait,
the gathered blossoms grant entry
to their kingdom’s favor,
to brazen and elegant and rare delights
where tears like dewdrops are silent,
sweet or not, but welcome.
I will look for you there.