Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Landscape - March 29, 2010

Isn't it plain the sheets of moss, except that

they have no tongues, could lecture

all day if they wanted about

spiritual patience? Isn't it clear

the black oaks along the path are standing

as though they were the most fragile of flowers?

...if the doors of my heart

ever close, I am as good as dead.

Every morning, so far, I'm alive. And now

the crows break off from the rest of the darkness

and burst up into the sky-as though

all night they had thought of what they would like

their lives to be, and imagined

their strong, thick wings.

The sun is not yet up. There is time still in the darkness to imagine who I already am: frail, small, patient, strong, tall. My heart opens to what I am and so this too opens the way for what I would like my life to be. This morning, so far, I'm alive, touching the earth as moss and reaching for the sky as oak and crow. May I every time I see the laurel oak strung with Spanish Moss and alive with black ruckus, imagine who I am, even if it is the boy in Jakarta that Mary tells us about tomorrow.

Who do you imagine yourself to be? Who are you already?

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