Revival

Do not be afraid
to hold her in your lap:
the thrashing arms
and thrusting legs
the sometimes silent screams of
"Don't tell me what to do!"
Do not be afraid.
She is listening;
longing to be seen
for all of who she is:
angry
frustrated
blocked by her hopelessness,
her fear of Not Knowing How.
Do not be afraid.
For if you withdraw,
who will help her
to invite Not Knowing
(a nickname for the taming)
into her own, small lap?
Who will show her
how to love that exiled one
as much as
anger and frustration?
If you stay back,
insist she calm and soften
before you love her,
who will help her to unseal and lift open
the window to her cautious heart?
Who will help unlock and release
the door to her fledgling trust?
Who will breathe with her
the cross breeze
of her yearning
for discovery,
so that hopelessness, too,
might be lifted from the floor
brought in to rest
between you?

Barren Winter Elm

When she,
like a mother,
has lost her foliate children,
some drifting past her vision
into territories
she will never know;
others fallen,
mulched into blackened soil
from which all
(ashes to ashes
dust to dust)
derive;
When she,
like a lover,
feels the withdrawal,
the empty appendages
that quiver,
is left only with
the memory of
vibrant
fluttering
life:
Where then
will she turn her focus
(as if the choice were
ever hers);
Where then will she
receive
the meaning of
her being.

Leaves like Lovers

Stillness
transformed by
an unseen power
into movement,
orange yellow flashing blaze of glory,
shimmering with heartbeats
still firmly attached
to their source,
while all around
others are lifted,
released,
these brothers, sisters,
less resilient,
less anchored
to their deep-rooted
stiff-barked nurturers.
On unseen wings
these vulnerable ones
twist and turn
delicately dance
and descend
blanketing and nurturing
again
the earth
from which they were created.
Those still hanging on
still attached to bending
life-force branches
do you think they sometimes wonder,
When will I join the rest?
When will I begin the fall?

host

like ivy spiralling up
the pine outside our bedroom window
seeking nourishment from
that which is other
and also now connected
so, too, the way you
and I once lived
together

On Not Pushing to "Help" Others

and what if walls
instead of defensive barriers
were invitations
to come closer
(but not too close)
to listen
(but not ask too many questions)
to sit next to
(but not climb over)

What if walls were our inventions
for pacing connections
for promoting softer revelations
for creating the slow
but certain loosening
the gradual letting down
of our ancient inner drawbridges