Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘connection’

 

 

 

That was the afternoon

we watched the avalanches—

dozens and dozens of them

flowing over the cliff bands.

How beautiful they were

from a distance—

bright falls of billowing snow.

They began as dark rumble,

then burst into plume, into rush.

Unstoppable they were.

Powerful. Inevitable.

Such a gift to feel humbled,

to exult in forces

greater than our own.

 

Later that night, reading

the tumbling graphs,

the sliding accounts,

the unforgiving reports,

I began to understand

the scale of the cliff.

 

And as everything

I thought I knew

slid over the escarpments

of comprehension,

how clear it all became.

What really matters.

How we’re all in this together.

Read Full Post »

One Almost Light

 

 

reaching into the dark

the underside of the moon

reaching darkly back

Read Full Post »

 

 

Not that I want to be someone else,

just that I want to be less myself,

 

which is to say less the woman

who thinks she knows anything

 

about anything—gardening or writing

or skiing or parenting or loving—

 

I want to be less who I am and

more what a tree is, what a star is,

 

protons fused with other protons,

and the strong force that holds

 

particles together in the center of atoms,

and the weak force that breaks the atoms down,

 

and the electromagnetic force that binds

all molecules. Yes, this is how I want to meet you,

 

without a name, unencumbered by a me,

a collection of atoms and forces that rhyme

 

with you, linked as we are from the very beginning.

How easy it is then to say hello, to fall in love

 

with each other, the world.

 

Read Full Post »

 

 

Despite the fact the road is empty

there’s a way that two friends

 

will bump into each other as they walk,

as if they are two wine glasses clinking,

 

toasting to the trees around them,

to the cold clear air, to the laughter

 

that rises, to the joy of finding themselves

walking the same road at the same time.

Read Full Post »

Longing to Help

 

 

The world enters

us as breath. We

return to it itself

as breath.

            —Joseph Hutchison, “Comfort Food: Breath”

 

 

And so today, on a day

when I feel quite sure

I can’t give you anything,

not anything that really matters,

I give you my breath.

It’s more conceptual

than actual, perhaps,

though scientists say

that the molecules we breathe

have been redistributed

in our atmosphere

for a century or two.

I decide to breathe as if.

As if with each breath,

I connect to you. As if

with each breath, we

become just a little

more each other

one molecule at a time.

 

Read Full Post »

 

 

beside the floodplain

acre after acre of pale blue

thousands of wild iris—

 

just thinking of sharing them

they become (is it possible?)

yes, more beautiful

Read Full Post »

Ode to Tears

 

 

The way day doesn’t fight

the dim before night. The way

shore does not resist the river’s rise.

The way air does not refuse

the beat of wing—that’s the way

I want to let tears come.

Why do I try to force

them from falling?

Not that it works anyway.

Still, this defiance, this struggle

to appear unmoved. And why?

When there are children who laugh

and a sky that blues and stories

that break us and laughter that

seizes us? Why try to pretend

we are not changed by the way

a child loves her mother or

a friend perseveres through cancer

or the way a math teacher reminds us we have

86,400 seconds a day to spend

and if we don’t spend them,

they are gone. It is logical to weep

when met with beauty, it is practical

to let the tears release instead

of all this stupid pretending that

we are too cool or too smart or too

sophisticated to be stirred.

No, better to notice when our toes

are dipped in the grand stream

that unites us all and let that water

move right through our eyes—

better not to try to explain it.

Better to wade in the course of tears

and refuse any boat that would keep us

from touching the water. After all,

we know how to swim. After all,

there are so many reasons

to give in to who we are.

 

 

 

Read Full Post »

 

 

 

And if you should find yourself

in the parking lot of tears,

then I will knit you a handkerchief

of poems—they won’t stop

the crying, but then you

will never weep alone—

every tear a chance to connect,

every tear a chance

to fall deeper in love.

Read Full Post »

One Tuning

 

 

you and I—

two notes in a minor chord

longing for resolution

Read Full Post »

 

 

A metal table in the sun. Beyond it, winter.

Two women sit, brought here by rambling.

 

One woman weeps, tears of mortality.

The other woman rhymes with her.

 

Everything rhymes eventually, though

neither of them know it yet. The grass.

 

The snow. The dirt. The way the two women lean

into shadows. It’s not that time makes demands,

 

it’s just that the women still see themselves

as separate. They grasp at the present,

 

thinking this makes them a part of it.

Meanwhile, the birds. Meanwhile,

 

the trees. Meanwhile, the cells, changing.

Meanwhile the sun slides down the sky.

 

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: