Still Be

Stepped outside
It’s still enough
Breezeless
To allow me
My fragility

Impatiens still patient
Street lights still willing
At this hour
This darker season
Giving to me

Courage
Calm in my craze
Righted in this firmament
Glad for Sun and for Moon
Still

Wing

It is enough for me, the breeze today. To let it waft over me, and with it, bring a strength.

Beauty and curiosity, like a bleached-comb Cardinal, often ride on such air. This morning, though, wisdom arrived.

This morning, the wind asked for my resolve: A halt to crying over others’ big promises and small feet. The stop to the bruises I allow.

A decision that I am enough. The God who created me said so.

This weekend, a storm of understanding is predicted. An Eastern Bluebird cannot be far behind.

Windward

There was ev’ry bit the beautiful breeze
The wind in their hair bore the proof

Sweet and temperate
And on occasion, when circumstances necessitated,
Such as each bygone day and now and the ‘morrow,
Fierce

As abandonment, windward or leeward
Sets a compass mark true, does it not?

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Heaven, Here


It's our backyard
We're allowed
We allow ourselves
Such rights
As to keep a few toys strewn about
Such pleasures
Of the dancing of sun and shadows
Upon the nearly too-long grass
That feels so silky
So blessedly silky
Against our ankles and feet
And the breeze….

Blown 

The need to be not stricken
By the simplest song’s every low, strummed string 
The imagined scent riding the gentlest breeze
The hop, hop, hopping of some creature’s feet
Is great
Is doomed

I will

Where was that tall, small white farmhouse

In need of my repair

I imagine soon the two bedroom windows

Will be cracked open a slight bit

To let in the night’s song

To let out the day’s cares

Old orange mutt sleeping on the job

Won’t hear the creaky porch swing nudged by the breeze

But I will

I do