They taught me to be alone
That my reflected eyes
Know how to hold me in compassion
Through the cool glass of a mirror
I Am Home

connecting with one’s soul, and through that, all that is
They taught me to be alone
That my reflected eyes
Know how to hold me in compassion
Through the cool glass of a mirror
It’s the lessons of grief
That seek to allow an openness to love
The mourning mother whose whelming heart floods
Well beyond the reach of her empty arms
All of my passions come landing here
Muted
In the soft whisper of finger tips tracing along
The hollows of cheekbones
I dug under the town’s cobblestone streets
Beneath the sidewalks where children ran laughing
Into a toy shore shaped like the dollhouse
That my mother gave away
When I was so far from the sea
I asked her for her rhythm of water upon rocks
She brought me to a roaring waterfall
The steady torrent
For all my love of the wilds
I keep returning to the gardens
Where human hands have touched at nature
With the creative imagination of God
They don’t think to warn you of the quiet creaking closing of internal doors
The slow gathering of mangled twigs catching in the creeks
In the places it wants to bend
And turn
I want to feel myself in the rhythm
I want the ocean waves pounding themselves against the glistening rocks
Reaching as far as they can out from the waters
Like open hands
This flip flopping of the shores
I come to give praise to the setting sun
At the water’s edge
To find the light at my back
To want that poetry in my mouth
To feel it slip from my lips
And into the air
As a wisp of vapor