It is the time of the eagles mating,
the season passing into us here in front
of our blue windows, we go out the door
into the moving breath and white lace
of the earth's thinking.
I stand with the dogs in the slow presence
of trees hardly moving, patient in winter,
uncomplaining. Their thick toes curving
The earth keeps stretching her arms
and the shiver along her hem of sleeping
muscles appears as quakes in other countries.
Some here too. Do you feel the movement?
The people are restless and find a unified
voice more powerful than fear. So they
come together and grow their energy so large,
fierce, it overthrows governments. Then
the voice, like a gunshot rises.
We hear it here. The earth
Lately I read books who remind me
like friends of spirit's original purpose,
my own deep history, my first voice, and work
to uncover it. In the darkness behind
these eyes I reach with both hands and
feel the earth's soul inside of me. I remember
the dreams of truth I was born with. It is easy
to love then, like the eagles off the island
of Vancouver. On the jagged small island
of tall trees. I watch the snow come down.
In this place I know I know nothing.
Embraced in this moment it is everything
and I do not have to hold onto the ground
so hard--this is what it feels to be weightless.
I am a part of you. The air, great rivers
moving or still. The soft voices of hope
filling the fields with their loud
and abundant silence.