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Archive for July, 2017

Montana Prayer

I come to you
so oftenIMG_4523
broken
mute
dark
and at my worst:
day
by
day,
the wind
clears
my fears,
the river
cleanses
my rigid
knotted
body:
ice cutting IMG_1565
flesh,
the moon
lulls my soul
the stars
fall
and I sing
my best
lullaby
a long
tune
that echoes
past
the highest ridge
past
the many years
past
the lost dreamsIMG_3851
past
this
same
moment
over and over.

You’ve heard it all,
silent witness:
and yet
you embrace me:
ponderosa

Red-tailed_Hawk_l07-52-061_limg_9173
sage
aspen
wildflowers
wrens
hawks
antelope
elk
deer
coyotes,
and so much more,
you gift me.

You lull me
in your embrace
wind
blowing
doubt
into
the darkest cave
lost
in the deepest gulch
swirling
in years
of dust.
You are
my soul place
where
I find
my voice once again,
year after year.

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Morning fog
lifting
riverIMG_1255
sheen
gold
sunlit
caddis
frenzy
rippling
lapping
hurling
waves
stop
at my feet:
water,
purest
mother
bless me
I come
as friend
naked
of intent
no rod
no boots
no net
2 dogs
and
worn feet,
brittle
calloused
bruised
free
at last
from
a
long
dark
darkest
winter.

Let me
feel
swirling
cold
numb
these
silly
polyps:
strange
seemingly
useless
appendages
suddenly
delicate
sparkling
dancing
gleaming
over
rounded
river
stones.

Dogs
dip
snouts
lapping
clear
purest
snow melt
shake
coats
reflecting
morning
summer
light,
eyes
darting
scanning
then
stop
waist high
lifting
earsTrumpeter Swan, Colony Farm Regional Park, Port Coquitlam, British Columbia
frozen.

Six
I count
luminous
glorious
royal
regal
white
long
necked
trumpeter swans
alight
mid river
graceful
note
fallen
from
the sky:
a Russian melody
come south
to stir
these
winter
sullen
dogs –
yet
they hold to:
their tails
pushed
by
the currentTrumpeter Swans
frozen
at
the sight.

All
three
we stare
as
they
lift their necks
black beaks
shimmering
gliding
wings
wide
breaking
the river’s
loud song
with a trumpet call.

This breaks
the trance:
the dogs
are off
the spell
broken,
my feet
numb.
Behind me
I hear
rustling:
red winged
blackbirds
loud
in reeds
and rushes,
just past
them
I see the full moon
finally
setting
behind
the bench.

 

 

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I came to find you,
padre mio,
here in these
eucalyptus
tallIMG_0789
fragrant
elegant
long
at dusk,
a dog’s
bark
echoes
deep
in the high valley,
the wild grass
hides
nighthawks,
and
winding creeks.
The rains have
come and gone,
the corn is high
and mouths are fed.
Here the rules
are simple,
plant,
sow,
pray
and drink chicha
on Sundays.
Walk to town
in your best colors,DSC00591
greet the neighbors
and share a tale
a meal
a smile
or nod,
but home by dusk
to close the gate,
feed the dogs
and wait for
the stars
to unfold
their stories
in the night sky.

Down in town,
the smell of Sunday
ajiaco:
still fills the night air,
and slowly
the music fades
at the plazita
as the musicians
trail up the hills
by the light
of the moon :
the last cumbia
still droning
in their footsteps….

I came
a child
clinging
to some unseen hand
eyes closed
holding
an unheard wish,
a simple
prayer
on my lips:
somewhere
many years ago
I lost my way.

Small girl
raven haired
olive skinned
staring at glass
and metal
towers,IMG_0677
anchored
chiseled
hard
by grey winters,
speaking
a learned tongue,
but in my dreams
I heard the
softest
tones
soothing
me to
peaceful
sleep.

Woman
mother
grandmother
all in one:
bearing the scars
of another country
I came in search
of my soul:
for so long
I walked
determined
I had it right,
but
I had it wrong.

You cannot
unmake
who you are:
what is in your heart
and blood,DSC00609
no matter
how thick the disguise.
In these mountains,
I see myself
reflected
back over
centuries
I hear my hidden
language
in the songs
the children sing,
and in the eyes
of the old men
I recognize my father.

“Tonight,
my father wrote:
I could write
the saddest poems
for
mi hija lejana” –
but here
in this rich land
as I walk
past fields
churned
by horse drawn
ploughs
same as ever,
I smile
to know
I am finally home.

 

 

 

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