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Posts Tagged ‘clarity’

After Years of Rushing

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on August 9, 2026| 2 Comments »

Today

more fen

than stream,

I draw

my source

from depths

unseen.

No need

to move,

how still,

how clear

am 

I.

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Before the Road Trip

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on June 9, 2024| 8 Comments »

Though I do not ask him to,
he rises early and goes
to the car with a razor and
bottle of blue windex
to remove the smear
of the caddis fly hatch
from my windshield.
Over a dozen miles
of spruce and aspen
pass before I see the gift.
For the next three hundred miles,
it’s all I see.

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An Opening

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on January 15, 2024| 4 Comments »

Mourning settles in like a midwinter storm,
clouds low, snow thick in the trees,
snow thick on the rooftops, thick
in the road where you’re forced to go slow
if you go anywhere at all—
squall after squall of thick fat flakes falling
till they break the boughs and thickly cover
the whole visible world
and then,
a parting, a lifting,
a clearing so startling, so blue you swear
you will never see the same way again,
not the snow, not the sky, not even yourself,
having as you do now, some small hint
of the weight of this life.

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Hiking with Joan Through the Aspen Glades

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on July 6, 2020| 3 Comments »

We speak the way old friends speak—

knowing each other’s stories,

the nuances and undertones.

She always knows just what to ask,

just how to nudge me toward

quiet revelation. I don’t do my best

to hide. In fact, it is easy

to speak of my brokenness.

We pause in a field

where the forest has been felled

in an avalanche—

the slender white trunks are strewn

in a chaotic jumble—

but oh, how clear the view.

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One Bummer

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on August 7, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

dang, how the songbird

mutters sometimes, and slurs,

forgets how even the most

discordant song can be beautiful

when it’s sung clear

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One Growing Clarity

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on February 25, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

scraping snow

off the car windshield—

so, too, these frozen thoughts

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Priceless

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on May 12, 2018| 2 Comments »

 

 

moments of clarity

strung like pearls

with knots between them

never touching

but oh, the sweet weight

of wearing that necklace

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While Trying to Decide What Comes Next

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on February 26, 2018| 2 Comments »

 

 

 

There is clarity in the three-hole punch,

the way it is made to receive the paper,

always the same every time.

 

How it punches the holes always

equidistant from each other. It never worries

it’s not doing its job good enough. Never

 

worries it isn’t worthy of the pages it meets.

There is clarity in the way it flexes beneath

the hand, how it does the one thing it was made

 

to do. And you, with your hand on the black

length of it, you with your thousands of choices

inside every moment, what is it that needs

 

your precision? Maybe you’re making it

too hard. Maybe it’s your turn to do

the one thing you were made to do.

 

 

 

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Here

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on December 20, 2011| 3 Comments »

Perhaps
these rocks
that look
like stumb-
ling blocks
are cairns,
and I
have, with
such diligence,
been kicking
them from
my way—
oh foolish
woman
who thought
that she
was lost.

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Clarity

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on September 24, 2011| 2 Comments »

Here’s to whatever time
it takes to have the heart it takes
once more to get there.
—William Kloefkorn, in “Poetry”

How is it I did not see it before,
this doorway I am walking toward,
I know I passed this way.

I was perhaps distracted by leaves
or more likely lost in my own dreams
but now there’s no missing it.

I can be so serious. So literal. So dense.
I like my invitations to tell me where and when
and what I might expect.

But here it is. The door. Small and getting smaller.
And if I do walk through the door, will there be another?
The mind it wants to know.

But the soul, the soul is more like light
that leaks through whatever cracks it finds
not caring where it arrives.

It does not knock, would stream on through,
though the mind puts on its leaden shoes
and insists on having a map.

And oh god, here I am under the lintel—
perhaps its less door and more of a tunnel—
how long, how long will it take

and can I go back? Can we ever go back?
And why and why am I scared? I think
I know something, I think

too much. I think I should not think any more.
The facts: a woman. This moment. Sunflowers.
Lead shoes. Light. An open door.

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