I want to give you pictures and stories and conversation. I am caught up in the busy-ness of life. I'll leave you a poem. It has no name, so feel free to advise.
Who isn’t the admirer of life, leaning,
Cap-cocked, lowing, crowing,
over latent mysteries?
Who hasn’t held a hand over fire?
Heart-quaking, hand-steady,
Knowing it’s not a feat.
Rhyme and time are natural,
we keep them tongue in cheek.
To our heatbeats rhythm running
Keeping ourselves stunned in
Our quiet.
I do not write.
I have felt a child and
felt it go.
I have felt beauty
And held on,
And let go.
This winter is long.
I’ve known the first sunburn,
And still it freezes.
I am grateful for
everything I did not plant
that I can put in the dirt
next week.
