Sunday, October 30, 2016

The Waves

The waves today are whales:
curling flukes of foam
that dissolve and vanish forevermore
as each wave folds upon itself
to break at my feet in a rush of white
here on the Oregon shore.

These are the leviathans of the Pacific
become one with their ocean home,
but more than this: these journeying giants
have now become the ocean itself:
tails of water, tails of foam.

In my vision it is the waves
which take the forms of tails,
slapping and rushing at the sand
to beach themselves at last,
wet and exhausted on the shore.

There are no whales, not today.
Perhaps tomorrow,
if I walk this same stretch of shore I will see them:
plumes of mist in the grey distance,
cruising the tug of currents
to their feeding grounds in the north.

For today, I have the white tails of the waves
with their memories older than an age
to remind me of times before my own
when all was new and beginning,
and the whales, the slide of currents,
the great ocean’s roll
were all and everything,
and the floating moon and the island sun
and the whales and the waves and my soul,
then as now, were one.

Sunday, October 16, 2016

More than One Tone

like a twig does
with a bird
like a snowdrop does
with the light
to hear a sigh
more than one tone of the harp
in one little shell

Monday, October 3, 2016


There's a room I can glimpse in my mirror
Far and far from my home
This room is a river of fire
And this room is a circle of stones
This room is a plain that's as wide as the world
And this room is a land unknown
This room is a place where the owl calls
Through forests of mystery
And this room is a shore where the wild wave horses
Toss their white manes in the sea.

Feathers for my mirror
Feathers for my wings
Feathers for the world
Where the wild wolf sings
Feathers for my stories
Feathers for my pain
Feathers for my shelter
From the night's dark rain.

But if this room is a shadow
And if this room is a dream
And if this room is only a room
Then how would my mirror seem?

But feathered is my mirror
Feathered are my wings
And feathered is the world
Where my wild wolf sings
Feathered is the drum
Feathered is the moon
Feathered is the heart
That journeys alone.

And each feather that I find on my pathway
Each feather I must work to earn
I will know for each feather
That I give to my mirror
My mirror gives me one in return.