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Posts Tagged ‘perspective’


 
 
If anger is a scarecrow
then let me be a field
that sprawls across the roads
and beyond the hills.
Sure, the scarecrow
is frightening. But it belongs.
And the field, look, it goes
on and on and on.

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kneeling in front of the wild rose
nose buried in pink petals,
the whole world fitsinto one wild rose

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Perception: A Sonnet


 
 
I take a walk with my whirling thoughts
and the near-full moon and the dark,
and for a time, all that seemed large
in me is no less large, but it’s also a dot,
 
a blip when compared to the whole
of the night, as if the entirety of my life
and the life of my country and the life
of the earth could all fit in a fourteen-line poem
 
with two lines left blank. Because nothing I write
seems to touch how vast, how sublime it is—
the snow moon rising above red cliffs—
only space can convey how humbling it is, the night.
 
 
                                                                                              .

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Almost by accident
I saw through the blaze
of my anger and fear
to the bunny in the yard,
his sweet brown body
so still and attentive
in the short brown grass,
and it’s not that I
became any less angry,
but when I let myself be held
by his steady brown eye,
I was touched by gentleness
and remembered what else
I am capable of. Oh self, this
is how you stay whole hearted—
by keeping your eyes wide open.

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Immensity


 
 
Just past Circus Circus,
I see it down a side street,
the half moon low on the horizon,
nowhere near as bright or big
as the giant clown smiling above me.
I thrill in my certainty the moon
has grown no smaller.
But how real it seems in this moment,
this moment when the moon looks
littler than a soup bowl
for a giant neon clown
on the Las Vegas strip.
It’s enough to make me think
that other things that seem
so large are not. Enough
to make me long to be a student
of perspective. How quickly
the world changes when
we change the way we see it.
How powerful the invitation
to want to see what is true.

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New Eyes


 
If the body is a temple,
then I want to remind myself
the grotto, too, is a temple,
a holy chamber carved
by nature and time,
a sanctuary
where song echoes and rises
in a place that’s been scoured,
ravaged, worn.
The meadow, too, is a temple,
with a giant blue dome of sky
made more holy by its expansiveness.
Let my prayer be not to change my body
but to change the way I see it.
Let me look in the mirror and see there
a grotto, a meadow, a temple,
a being who is learning new prayers
as she’s shaped and reshaped
by the world.

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One Big Perspective

a day so blue
even my greatest fears
are dissolved into sky

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New Eyes

But I’m sad, I said.
And the world
was unrelentingly
filled with good.
Weaving into the ache
and loss and dread
was the moon as it rose
in fuzzy white gauze,
luminous behind thin clouds.
Was the woman
who made of her body a circle
to embrace with her love my pain.
Was the laugh of my girl
in the other room.
Was the paperwhite
blooming on the kitchen counter
like an intimate constellation.
But I’m sad, I said,
and the world did not try
to convince me my sadness
was not also true.
And I felt myself open
like a daffodil in spring,
grateful to be touched
by sun, by chill. And
I felt myself open,
naked as a winter tree,
tender as a woman
just learning to see
how everything invites us
to meet what is holy.

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An Opening

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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Perspective

And the mountains rose
and eroded completely
and the great sea flooded all
and the great sea left and
the great sea flooded and left again
and the land was forced up,
and then pulled from both sides
until the center broke
and slid down to create a great rift
and the volcanoes spewed lava
and the ash covered all
and the glaciers scrubbed
and the rocks avalanched
and the earth slumped
and today I sit in the valley
and stare at the mountain
with a dusting of white
on its wide shoulders
light gathering in its clefts
and think, my god,
isn’t it peaceful?

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