If you ever lose heart and the earth seems as distant as stars fading into the noise of your busy mind, know this. That a tiny island exists in the blue hands of the ocean. That a tree grows upright into the salted clouds. That two eagles love each other enough to spend their lives greeting the morning sun together. That two eaglets stand in their nest, gazing at the heavens. Looking down to the forever ground. They eat and sleep and flap their wings. And one day in July, one by one, they will jump into the air. They will know the difference between existing and what is beyond. They will hold onto nothing. The hurricane will come, courage catching their pinions on fire, as they mount the wind, climbing ladders into realms of the invisible.

--T.L. Stokes

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Brief Coyote and the Thumbprint of Snow

Soft sounds, thumb printing snow,
singing as it comes down
oh, spacious innocence
and crystal faces,

are your eyes open or closed?
Your singing makes the woods
put on white coats,
tucks the grass
in for naps.

Slipping from invisible doors
brief coyotes hunt for an hour.
Yoga pose and meditate. My eyes
are grateful.

A shadow calls from thirty years ago.
I answer. I remember while talking,
the boat clutching the wind, the music
of your voice, the color of your skin.

We both apologize
for not being kinder.

Gray clouds rock the sun to some other country.
Still, the white goodness keeps falling.
Candles and flutes make the black dog

I turn from the window, my eyes full of white.

for Sundays

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