that dares to love. The barely seeable

light that slips now up the edge of

our grief, like another dawn

we’re not quite ready for.

In the Sky of Heart

IN THE SKY OF HEART

It’s late in the afternoon and I’m

backed up in traffic, aching for my

father and our dog, both gone, when

the sun comes through, and there, above

us, a shelf of clouds shaped like an island

edged by a waterfall. So real, I can almost

hear the rush of water falling

into Eternity. This mythic island in

the sky stands by itself, beckoning.

And I understand why early people

overwhelmed with survival might

look up and believe that gods live

in the sky. I am no different, as I

outwait the clouds of our trouble.

Someone is honking. But something

stirs within and I want to put the car

in park and walk into the sky, to sit

by the waterfall of time falling into

everything. I think it’s where we all

go when the light turns green and

the tires turn to wings and the steering

wheels open into flowers. I think

I hear my father throwing sticks to

our dog at the bottom of the waterfall.

Someone else is honking.

It’s hard to go anywhere.

The Sway of It All

THE SWAY OF IT ALL

And so I lift my face from the mud,

the mud of my past, the mud of history,

the thick and ragged bark of how we

think everyone but our own darkness

is the enemy, I lift my face like a worn

planet spinning on itself to get back

into the light, to say to no one, to

everyone—it is an honor to be alive.

Gratitudes

GRATITUDES

Long ago, I was lifted from almost drowning and dragged on shore, and cared for till I could walk again. Then I was gently encouraged not to fear the sea, and given stories that helped me believe there is more wonder than pain. So no matter how life has rearranged the path, no matter how scattered the tribe has become, no matter how many times I had to begin again, gratitude is all I ever have to say. There are too many to name—from the young nurse who eased me back down when the slit in my groin began to bleed to my brother who pleaded with me not to give up—there are too many to thank, each a bead of kindness on my personal rosary. And whether gone or far away, I pray for each of them. Like so many others, I was remade by the fire of life’s forces and plunged into the sea of being to set the rawness and cool the burns. That’s why, at a certain time of day, my inner eyes glow. That’s why I feel compelled to share what I see, ever humbled by the remaking of time.