At a glance

the moon can look tacked or pasted

to the early evening sky

but a deeper look shows

an orb gently lit by the sun

who – across millennia –

faithfully orbits the given earth.

Yes, our cosmic neighborhood

includes that story of loyalty

extending beyond history’s hungry reach

or fragile grasp.

I am falling

descending easily

through layered currents

of sound.  I angle

down into buoyancy

without bottom.

In the river of flight

a song pours

into my ears, mixing

with constant wind

of jet travel.

Underneath all these level

miles I stream between

rocks and slide over

moss-slick stairwells

into fathomless

lavender depths,

not nearly apprehending

the radius of illusion

as it ripples out

from my splash-point

immersion.

Every moment in our lives

slips from our grasp

and swims from sight – most

disappear into open ocean oblivion.

Goodbye to those as we journey on.

But some large shimmering fish

and even certain tiny minnows

slide through aquatic channels

into the chambers of memory

occasionally flashing in and out of sight.

Driving miles west of Herman, Missouri

I finally brought the risk to light.

I remember apologizing out of the depths

of a pause and feeling your patient

encouragement.  Then epiphanies

gathered in unfolding layers.

Who was this June who'd traveled

dark and changed roads for life?

A growing view those high-speed hours

but the deep swim arrived in a still

dark den, where wordless feelings

opened, opened through the night.

Who I was I could no longer tell

for we woke in a kind of wilderness:

mysterious and encompassing

and utterly alive.

Looking through the other window,

you can see yourself still walking

along an azure corridor that

keeps leading back, like a delivery

truck driving in reverse or

a backward scuttling crab

on the sand floor of silence.

The moment parts, allowing a new

flow of amber light to pour in

and fill the room -- gradually

and utterly changing

what was always there.

How can we touch the tender

face of justice

without regular bitter gulps

from the deep chalice of inequity?

The stinging drink goes down

hard, stirs tumult.

What part of the system

must I own

too seldom afflicting complacency

or bringing solace to the suffering?

Walking among blue spruce

fiddle-head ferns

and small meadows of moss

I did not see the foraging doe

before shocking her into flight.

Her leaps sprung upward

more than forward

soaring on invisible wings.

The white scarf of tail

held stiff before she vanished

over tangled brambles.

I stood still.

Alone.

The beach is wide

late afternoon low tide.

The sea continually pours

down upon itself and flows

in clear sheets

across slick rippled sand

where sanderlings pause to jab

before dashing on black tooth picks

shifting with the shifting fringe of surf.

In a single instant

in perfect unison

seven sanderlings spring into flight

and glide out along the breakers

and evaporate

where sand and sea and marmalade sky

dissolve into the perfect harmony

of distance.