It is useful to surrender enough to what lifts or perplexes us,
yes even what hurts, just give in to the depth
and breadth of it, let one’s bones resonate
with a screech of hawk who dives for the kill,
and accept to the lips a soft tartness of cider or sour salt of tears,
and lean a hard heartbeat into that of another.
It is instructive, can tip a balance. Wake us.
Everywhere we look, the dark bleeds light,
then light bleeds the darkness, and we love it or
forget who we are, what is counted as treasure.
I, for one, note every signal and track as a rambler must.
Yet being struck still or pressed forward
brings me to the same end: in the middle of nowhere
I will sense where I am, and soon recognize
the music of creature breaths and the tapestries of skies.
They mingle with breaths and visions that came before.
There is a trail left by every humble or magesterial thing.
It is easy to stumble, jagged rock beneath knees
and sun then rain blinding, skewing the whole.
We think: perhaps it is a failure to lose bearings;
we forgot to be attentive or do what is best
in a world where much is garrish with grievous ego.
I sometimes walk the river with friends, then lag behind
to be transported by autumn water as it carves the banks
with its wilding life and carries its loads.
This silky-sinuous passageway in time
asks me to again succumb to wonder.
To allow the nerves of living to spark and flare.
Even standing in green black shadows
a potent light flees the water and then is gathered,
it parts the leaves and limbs–
turns my face into something stunned and bright,
and tells me
nay, never alone on this winding way,
follow heart lines, follow spirit drum.