From the dark place despair dropped me
may I rise up like oxalis
after the first autumn rain,
push through
wildfire ashes and
soaked cedar bark mulch
into this enticing
day-following-night world.
Let me sip sunlight
and feast on my own green,
unfold cloverleaves as if
the sun would return
tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
All winter long
buried,
I dream of flowers
so yellow they might be worthy
of this light.
We’re all in this together,
looking for the songs to sing
that will hold the world together.
We might look to the soldier or scientist
to save us,
but the hero sits in silence before dawn,
looks out the window at the moon
slender and radiant in her old age,
and listens,
listens below ticking clock
and hooting owl,
listens beyond the whisper of candle flame
and the tinkle from the bells
the ants wear round their feet.
Deep in the earth,
deep in the cave of her heart,
angels sing,
and the poet transcribes.
Originally published in Second Wind: Words & Art of Hope & Resilience.
The Kingdom of Enough 