a pantoum
January 24, 2012

While dreaming of pears and figs

There is a secret smoothness to every quiet need,
a familiar stone turned between fingertips, worn
and tattered as every ancient, memorized creed.
I spoke with a soul pulsing, holy and torn.

A familiar stone turned between fingertips worn
down to the marrow, to the bone,
I spoke with a soul pulsing, holy and torn.
I lived, Divinity, with words to murmur, to intone

down to the marrow, to the bone.
My spaces shrunk to accommodate manageable fears.
I lived divinity with words.  To murmur, to intone,
I lived, a breathing wonderment of darkening years.

My spaces shrunk to accommodate manageable fears,
and, tattered as every ancient, memorized creed,
I lived, a breathing wonderment of darkening years.
There is a secret smoothness to every quiet need.

Pantoum
February 6, 2011

Spring and Light

There is a man of spring and light,
and he never knows the reasons why,
but he is one who knows the night
and raises trees to speak to sky.

He never knows the reasons why,
but planting seeds, he knows they’ll grow.
And raising trees to speak to sky,
Springlight Man knows what he has to know.

Planting seeds, he knows they’ll grow
and that the rains will come again.
Springlight Man knows what he has to know,
not asking why like other men.

He knows the rains will come again
and that the swallows sing at dawn,
and, not asking why like other men,
he accepts it when their song is gone.

He knows the swallow sings at the dawn,
and he is one who knows the night.
He accepts it when his song is gone.
He is a man of spring and light.