Category: Meditation

the eagle and the heron

the heron glides
on silent wings
outstretched—
curtains of dusky blue
that gather the air
like an indrawn breath
and, exhaling
with one vast thrust
of endless feathers,
she rides the wild updraft
long neck tucked, S-shaped
above a narrow breast
landing, stalking
the shallow outskirts
of the river’s bounty
with focused stealth
waiting
always waiting

the eagle, vigilant
sharp-eyed, predatory
all talons and beak
her jagged edges, perched
atop the places that divide
beginnings and endings
the thresholds—
where water meets land
earth meets sky
until the hunt;
a blur of chestnut feathers
she’s crowned
head and tail
in white, grasping
with golden feet
each squirming fish
a piece of glistening fruit






Docked

a stationary ship is the embodiment of tragedy
built for long journeys, Christened with names like
Wind Dancer and Carpe Diem, tethered to the dock
–seizing nothing

as much a fixture as landlocked houses
and roads that wind through every place
but never move. wouldn’t it be something
to see the road drive away?

how many of us are stuck, built to wander
a much bigger world?

I’m nothing like that boat
bobbing and bobbing in one place
with only the changing sky above me
and the changing earth below, tethered
to my life

some things are made to stay in one place

I’m a tree that dies where it stands
taking roots and growing old as my canopy spreads
holding the landscape within my branches
that’s what it means to be a tree


Stratum

the oldest versions are stacked
like layers of dermis, hardened
over years that became decades
until middle age found me
counting the silver strands that shine
like falling stars across the lusterless surface
of my fossilized youth

my first two decades lie frozen
within the merciless amber of time
thin as parchment
delicate as spun sugar, disintegrating
beneath the droplets of years

by my third decade I basked
in the comfort of motherhood
babies in tow, each season a gift
alight with the glimmer
of a connected whole

for the first time, I was more than myself
no longer young, but still young enough
to feel life’s shine

Stillness

I catch each thought between my palms–
a tiny fairy with damp, burdened wings.
When I dry them off, setting them free,
the deep quiet of my uncluttered mind
frightens me, echoing the stillness of a grave;
bottomless and mute.
It wants me to see it, needs to be seen.
A place of solace beckons me
through the uncomfortable dark
where more tears and pain await.
Oh, but I’m so tired, so very tired
of the impenetrable black.
I only want to close my eyes
and see you.