I’d fall across the border just to get a taste
of the streams that flow from the mountains,
that carry the refreshing waters of grace.
I’d stumble up the mountain just to get a glimpse
of the clouds that carry the rain to the valleys,
that sends the water for deer, and us, and others to drink.
I would stop short at the painful sound of
one calling out in their grief, that all the pain of the universe,
all the anger of the world
cannot stop the constant flow from Godward on
to creatures who sometimes ignore the clues that
beauty resides in the deepest wounds.
I would not presume to know what you do not know,
I could never guess what keeps us so far from the
spring breezes
that refresh the darkest brooding. I might find a lucky trail
that winds its way through the vale until I find
the burbling stream that flows from the granite cracks
just below my feet. Did I hear a voice, did I perceive it?
Did the blue jays lead me there, or the spirit, or the thirst
that drives me on?
I created ways to replace the water that flows through
the blood,
I scouted deserts to find a place where performance was king,
I honed songs out of nothing, I jotted notes I promptly threw away,
I underscored a hundred lines in a hundred books I never read again.
I waited for a voice, a bell that sounded it was time
to arrive;
I called like a begging dog, I cried like a summer storm.
I didn’t know when the replacements would arrive,
I didn’t know if there were any at all.
I just hoped the war would soon be over and
all the sparring would be done.
I’d wait on this rock until the promise arrives,
I’d watch the sun set minutes later each day.
I’d scan the horizon, just passing the time,
I’d follow the path of the rabbit to her warren.
But on the days that feel flat,
on the mornings the air pushes hard upon my mind,
I sometimes discover what is always there;
I sometimes feel something heavier than fear
that displaces my wandering with
words that feel like home.
