Life in the lowlands

As you walk through life in the lowlands
It is always high under the sun and shores
Are never far away.

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Secrets

Behind the scenes of earth’s silence
There are words,
Like spring leaves they bob
Nonchalantly on the surface
Of forest ponds.
But don’t look for them there,
The secrets are left behind on naked trees
Silhouetted in black against
The dusky sky.

Consumers of Grace

We are consumers of grace,
A forever renewable greenery
Gardened by a gatekeeping horizon
Opening and closing its borders
Before our dream-bespectacled scrutinization,
Feeding our numbness alternately
with empty words and promises.

Walking through wilderness

Even when your mind seems like a desert,
Or an urbanized concrete grayness,
Your spirit remains a thick green wilderness
Unharmed by matchete knives or sickles,
With impulses like wild animals, elusive,
Fleeting, but strong and muscled and impossible
To cage and tame.

Grace over a cupped land

The morning is white and
Sinless in its Christening gown.
The sea half-dark in the low
winter sunlight.
Under the paling February sky
A network of narrow light shafts,
Matronly guarding islands
Like deep green
Unfathomable eyes
Kholed by
Sharp Rock-layered cliffs,
Pour, from invisible palms,
Grace over the cupped land.
From here
All stretches out,
Changeable, dim and moody.
A bright-lit swathe of
Unquiet spirits
And an intricate web of bays
Still admitting the inscrutable
Tides of cognition.

Moving us along

A place in the sun
Where birds cross
And cross again on the wind
Breathes your spirit.
A shimmering swathe of
wind-knotted secrets
To brush the tears away.
And a voice,
No more than a whispering
Echo of a gentle breeze,
Falls into consciousness
From the farthest margin of our being;
The resting point of oceans,
Moving us, in shining certainty, along
The cluttered existence
Of humanity.

The coming of Light

Gray and mute.
There is no cadence in the wind,
As if numbed by the winter forest.
There is a stench of sorrow
Shrouding all safe exits.
Even the tide is holding its breath.
Then, a blossoming of light,
Soft violet and blush,
Splitting the ocean in a glittering trail
Of rose gold and silver.
The echoing cry of seabirds,
And feathers shivering
In the eddies of the wind.