Cypress

at 11:11, with grandmother walnut,

we were to meet.

i raced partly down the trail

with a shoelace untied,

hurrying anxiously,

but in all my rush

i was one minute late.

---

my grasp of time was never strong;

hands holding onto that

soft wind,

which blows in flocks

of zeeting pine siskins

and carries them off

just as unexpectedly.

---

but my confession,

dear fox,

is that i saw you right on time.

sheltered by her protective embrace,

a hundred years of growth at your back,

roots deep in nature's wisdom,

quiet monument of knowing.

---

at that synchronous minute,

a flicker cried--

my heart and my body stopped,

crowded by fear

and yet longing.

the enigmatic shape of your heart

pulled my frozen feet forward.

---

***

---

and so i sat down,

catching breath and eyes.

you placed the face of ancient

lakes and volcanoes in my hands;

leaden levity.

a hummingbird, a chandelier.

a ring and a spoon.

---

and so we explored the canyon,

drifting through life's unfoldings.

deciphered avian tongues,

unveiled spring seedlings.

the touch of moss and slime mold,

and cold, shaking hands

on holey wood.

---

and so we rested, supine

under a sap-tapped

north by northwestern red cedar,

where the flux of lucent light

set the stage for

sandhill crane fairy bugs to rave.

esoteric joy.

---

grief is ever working within,

arranging together old and new:

this strand of pain

and that thread of hope

into a harmony of contrasts;

a cacophonic duet of crows

with the soft ivory under your fingertips.

---

---