It could be the letter never answered,
the one in which you declared your love
in such a tender way, admitting to every-
thing. Or when the shell you brought all
the way from the Philippines is dropped
by some loud stranger you never wanted
to show it to in the first place. It could all
unravel the moment the shell shatters on
your floor. Or on a summer bench, your
eyes closed, your fear about to vanish, the
heat bathing you as bees begin to fly.
It could happen anywhere you linger
too long, anywhere you stop hauling and
counting, when your mind spills its tangle
of lists. Often it comes with the relaxation
of great pain. When the hip finally mends
enough to step. Or your need to know
is broken by a bird lifting into light.
Or when succeeding in being something
you’re not. Being influential when you’re
shy. Or rugged when you’re tender.
Or while watching an old tree slip into
winter, like the one thing you won’t let
go of dropping all its leaves.
When the elements in all their beauty
reshape our eyes, it is God’s kiss: gentle
as erosion. When you could crumble in
an instant—all your pain, salt waiting
for a wave—you are close.
those kissing strangers may actually be soulmates…..who can know what lies under dreams and grateful prayers……who can know where spirit and wisdom coalesce to free the entrapments of our best hopes…….contradictions are inherent in divinity…..it’s why we stargaze……
Our lives come free; they’re on the house to all comers, like the shopkeeper’s wine. God decants the universe of time in a stream, and our best hope is, by our own awareness, to step into the stream and serve, empty as flumes, to keep it moving…..Annie Dillard
Try to love this world, like a secret,
a promise, a sacred tease:
five hundred shades of blue—sea glass or sky,
sapphire, jade, lapis lazuli. Cool hues
play the rogue, retreat from our gaze
while come-hithering, mystical
as the quiet splice of shadows and twilight,
fickle as evening tide, its invocation
foaming like cream on blackberry sand,
every ebbing a benediction.
How many ways can one soul taste
what perfumes the mind,
be it sandalwood, hyacinth, rain?
Scent, you are memory’s journey mate.
Time frays, like next week’s vapor trail;
the past unspools, and there we are
at midnight, still gazing upward.