Spring Flow

I flow
while the land
grows.

My bare feet
on grass,
wet by morning dew.

My face warmed
by the sun,
a daffodil,
I open.

Crocuses surround me
as my life finds
new energy.

In Spring
I awaken
to this Truth.

I am the land.
We are the same
flow.

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I Lay Down

I lay down until
I was mostly lichen,
a bare branch,
the bark decayed.

I lay still longer
and I became dirt,
a mushroom digging
its roots through me.

I was bound,
unmoving

until I was
raining

pouring into
the ocean
and I became

undertow.

Drowned in the
taste of
salt,
no color or smell

until the tides changed
and I rode up
on a white horse

and I saw
golden sun
blue waves
and the green
of the shore.

Ah if I knew
this was my fate
I would not have been
afraid to die.

I was inspired by Mary Oliver’s poems- many of her poems- especially ‘Sleeping in the Forest‘. My poem is only a small telling in the face of her gorgeous writing, but I thought it was worth mentioning the inspiration.

Inked Love

Inked arms
curling like
incense smoke
around
my heart.

I pray in kind.

He traces
his map
on my skin

where he had
been

dark places
and lost

and how he
only had
a candle –

all this
he draws
onto me

as I breathe
his spiced smoke
and take all of him in

– all

until the prayer
is answered

and I read
his tale
over and over

inked
on my skin.

Home the Sea

You know this place

where you become

sea kelp,

floating,

hardly solid.

 

You are rocked,

each fear

replaced

by salt kisses.

 

Landwalker,

the moon rules

your veins

and your blood

is salt water.

 

When dry fissures

crack your heels,

hands,

heart,

 

listen for the waves.

 

You cannot lose her,

the sea.

In the shell

of your heart

lies a pearl.

To a Teacher

I had not
tried to meet him
for I felt too small,

so I was unprepared
when the grace
in his words
met me.

They say a
man can die
and his bones
lay in one place
hidden, underground.

His words
came to me
as I walked
through

golden, red and
brown leaves

unexpected,
and I was only
dressed

in autumn,
heading to
winter.

He turned my
mind to Spring.

They say the touch
of a teacher across
time, space, even death
is a blessing-
Adhisthana.

This is written to Sangharakshita who died in late October. I am in the Triratna Buddhist movement and have learned much from his books and teachings, though I had never met him.