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Posts Tagged ‘change’

 

 

 

bird in the cage

so intently singing

its sad, caged song

never noticing

the door long ago opened

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in every moment

a doorway, but sometimes

the door so small

not even my toe

will fit through

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One Marriage

 

ever conversing

the canyon and river—

one carves,

one contains,

one sings,

one resonates,

summer, winter,

sun, rain,

both endure

both change

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Isostasy

 

 

 

Danny says the continent is rising,

it rises as the glaciers melt, it’s rising

for the last ten thousand years.

 

How slowly things change, invisibly

until the time we cannot recognize

the world we thought we knew.

 

How slowly things change, beyond

our ability to measure, but they do, love,

the crust now floating above the mantle.

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Finding Her Spine

 

 

 

not just turning the pages

of her life to the next chapter,

but choosing to leap

out of the pages

into a new book

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It’s not like the toaster

keeps secrets. Everyone

knows that all it does

is add heat for a short

duration. But that’s

all it takes to turn

something stale

into something

somehow sweeter

and warmer and

oddly much

more itself.

Heat. For a bit. That’s all.

And even knowing

this, I let the stale

parts of me stay

stale. I know from experience

that that the heat

will come whether

I choose it or not.

Though sometimes it

will burn down the house

just to toast one slice.

Better to take things

into my own hands.

Sometimes, I take

my own advice.

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One Note from the Wind

 

 

 

 

another morning,

another chance to be

utterly rearranged

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Think Small

 

 

 

Even the smallest strand of saffron

goldens the rice and lends

its good and earthy bitterness

to each of the ten thousand

grains in the pot.

 

My friend says she wants

to make a bigger difference,

doubts the effect she has.

There are many ways, I think,

to reach many.

 

One is to do as the saffron crocus does—

put everything you have

into just a few threads,

then trust they’re potent enough

to change everything.

 

 

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Time for a Change

with thanks to Alan Cohen

 

 

rearranging the furniture,

that works for a while—

what the heart really wants

is to take out

the walls

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Dave slips the wine thief

into the barrel and siphons

the young red wine. Into my glass,

 

he spills it and asks what I taste.

Pineapple. Pepper. Currant.

In another, there is cinnamon.

 

In another, sunshine and almond.

The thief dips again and again

into cab franc and merlot, syrah,

 

and grapes I’ve never heard of before.

They are all changing,

Dave explains. Come back again

 

in a month, he says, and they

will all be different. I think

of what a difference a month makes,

 

how the heart, like wine,

stays essentially the same,

only it’s ever transformed—

 

the notes it carries, innuendo,

the balance. At last, we reach

the barrel of white, Gewertzraminer.

 

In my glass sings pear and grapefruit and

summer still shy. Though it, too, is unfinished,

I could drink it all night.

 

All around us, inside us,

so much is changing. I tell myself

not to fear. There can be pleasure

 

in this art of change,

exotic and sweet,

a hint of rose petal, spice.

 

 

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