Figuring Out Life While Aging
With the silence of light in darkness,
with the yearning for tenderness
of an obedient child,
the compounding of grief
and relief
releases
comforting perfume:
scars and other gifts
that have awakened me
in a forgiving world.
—/
The delightful impermanence
of sunlit flickering shadows
shows me a path
out of the fearful
cave, out into
the blue-skyed green-leafing
world,
where storms can pass,
and living through them
teaches the beauty of joy.
Branches with green buds
in the early morning light,
swaying and sun-bless”d
-/
Through bare grey branches
I can see spring’s pink blossoms:
transient beauty.
-/
Ambushed by beauty -
the blossoming Bridalwreath
declaring spring now.
-/
Smoke rises
from the extinguished candle:
the aura lingers.
-/
With the ambivalence of March weather
I miss the weight of your eyes,
looking among stones
from the cairn we built together.
I go to the lake searching
for stones I can choose
to build my new cairn
on the foundation of ours.
A voice speaking my name;
out a dark window, the shining moon:
small joys.
Matthew 4:1-11
The courage of grocery shopping
among stones,
in times of hunger.
The courage of refusing a parachute
near the map’s edge,
while demons wait.
The courage of letting go
not paying ransom
for all wishes granted,
All these are our daily tasks.
When does death begin?
Before the last breath,
at the diagnosis,
when the symptoms reach consciousness?
A trip and fall in old age,
a desolate, desperate plunge,
as the car skids
on an icy road?
With childhood illness,
at the first breath,
when the sperm
lands on the waiting egg?
When eyes first meet,
as lips and hands touch,
with the grasping embrace
and thrust?
Death begins with life.
This cold house shivers and sheds,
waiting for me to leave
and find my home.
—/
Three texts before breakfast
and into the mist
of the climate change day.
—/
Golden willows on the hillside,
Swollen elm tips across the street:
Spring comes.
2015 & still today!
I have a horror
hangover:
a surfeit of tv news dribbles
repeating
the images and words -
addictive
and numbing.
To look away, to change the channel,
I switch to a story of plotted
murder, where the killer
is named and blamed
and hunted and destroyed -
and it’s over!
When I can’t resist tv news glancing again,
the crowds are still
raging in the streets.
I almost wake as I lumber
lurching on sleep-stiff ankles
and return to my night-warmed bed.
In the east, out the window,
I watch the pine boughs shift
and sway and still and shift.
Resting on the next street’s roofs
a pale gold light bleeds upward
behind the narrowing pine,
at the window’s top,
the sky’s grey-white
hints at blue.
Snow -
enough to cover, not to shovel -
squeaks
under my feet.
Bitter cold
burns my cheeks.
Walking alone
is painful.
I raise my face
to the sun.
Learning Living 