Yesterday I thought
spirits were present
coming out from behind
their curtain, disclosing,
silently lurking
in quiet nooks, the same
green nooks the ducks
swim out of.
Where did they come from?
Behind tall cattails,
grasses where dragonflies home.
Today there is no quiet
hidden energy, just algae,
like green and red marble
growing out from behind the reeds.
I hover at the edge
stand as quiet as I can
watch. I carry
no weapon, except maybe
my pen, I just want to learn
to be this still and stay
at one with other beings.
No woodpecker,
nor a calling oriole.
Just ducks fly in for
a synchronized landing.
Broken branches reaching
out with awkward bends
wait
patiently
breathe
breathe again.
I’ll return tomorrow
seek out those spirits
rest with herons that
need no longer speak
as they ride out their
lonely summers.
II
Is it language that separates
us from animals, from birds?
Is it the fact that we analyze love,
need to know intent
demand a why and a wherefore?
Or is that just me
Since I was born
needing to reach the next place
wanting the next tier
to understand what is in front;
what I know is there,
but cannot cleanly see?
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