And still, pressed deep into my mind, the river
    keeps coming, touching me, passing by on its
        long journey, its pale, infallible voice
            singing.

Philip’s Birthday

I gave,
to a friend that I care for deeply,
something that I loved.
It was only a small

extremely shapely bone
that came from the ear
of a whale.
It hurt a little

to give it away.
The next morning
I went out, as usual,
at sunrise,

and there, in the harbor,
was a swan.
I don’t know
what he or she was doing there,

but the beauty of it
was gift.
Do you see what I mean?
You give, and you are given.

I Want

I want to be
in partnership
with the universe

like the tiger lily
poking up
its gorgeous head

among the so-called
useless weeds
in the uncultivated fields

that still abide.
But it’s okay
if, after all,

I’m not a lily,
but only grass
in a clutch of curly grass

waving in the wind,
staring sunward: one of those
sweet, abrasive blades.

About Angels and About Trees

Where do angels
    fly in the firmament,
and how many can dance
    on the head of a pin?

Well, I don’t care
    about that pin dance,
what I know is that
    they rest, sometimes,
in the tops of the trees

and you can see them,
    or almost see them,
or, anyway, think: what a
    wonderful idea.

I have lost as you and
    others have possibly lost a
beloved one,
    and wonder, where are they now?

The trees, anyway, are
    miraculous, full of
angels (ideas); even
    empty they are a
good place to look, to put
    the heart at rest—all those
leaves breathing the air, so

peaceful and diligent, and certainly
    ready to be
the resting place of
    strange, winged creatures
that we, in this world, have loved.

Meeting Wolf

There are no words
inside his mouth,
inside his golden eyes.

So we stand, silent,
both of us tense
under the speechless but faithful trees.

And this is what I think:
I have given him
intrusion.

He has given me
a glimpse into a better but now broken world.
Not his doing, but ours.

Just Rain

The clouds
    did not say
        soon, but who can tell
            for sure, it wasn’t

the first time I had been
    fooled; the sky-doors
        opened and
            the rain began

to fall upon all of us: the
    grass, the leaves,
        my face, my shoulders
            and the flowered body

of the pond where
    it made its soft
        unnotational
            music on the pond’s

springy surface, and then
    the birds joined in and I too
        felt called toward such
            throat praise. Well,

the whole afternoon went on
    that way until I thought
        I could feel
            the almost born things

in the earth rejoicing. As for myself,
    I just kept walking, thinking:
        once more I am grateful
            to be present.

Mysteries, Yes

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
    to be understood.