My Body is

my body is an extension cord,
my body is a chocolate rabbit.
my body is a purity ring,
my body is a jacket,
my body is a pen,
my body is a whiteboard,
my body is a coffee mug,
my body is a projector screen,
my body is a stool,
my body is a cave.

Where is the body in all of that?

Near-Distance

Three dens nestle among

the roots of the great tree

called the “tree of life”

In the center of the field.

The bark is riddled with

holes of hundreds of in-

sects seeking shelter in

the ancient wood. Bird-

song sounds up above

me as gay robins finches,

swallows, and cardinals

tweet overhead, munching

on the numerous ants that

march up and down the trunk.

The bark of the treeIs cracked in places,

large ridges testament to its old age. Around the tree, dead

                                     branches         riddle the        grass, many         more still

                                   clinging to           the ends          of creaking          tree limbs.

A home for so many others, what will happen when the great tree finally falls to the ground?

Middle-Distance

Water
     bubbles
            and laughs
                 as it flows
         through
     the bend in
              the creek-
                   bed, the sun
                       warming
                        stones worn
                           smooth by
                         years of
                  watery mirth
              flowing over
            them.                        
Bare trees stretch             
their tired, contented arms over the creek, soaking yellow
                  kisses into their dry, cracked skin.
            Green
          water,
          vermillion
            sky,
white clouds,
and a wind that draws the water on to greater
shimmering joys.

Far-Distance

The field is awash 

with green and tan blades of grass,

vestiges of last years crop and hints of the new. 

The sky is dark blue overhead, with clouds puffy and petite 

rolling in. A lone tree stands in the center of the field, brown 

and foliage as though it were an old man, in the middle of budding life, 

slowly putting on his hat to say "Good day to you. Many years 

I have seen, and many more will come, 

but for the moment, you are my

 grandchild. 

Sit with

 me, and 

I will teach 

you the 

patience 

God taught me."

A breeze stirs the grass as the tree 

shakes its wizened branches.

Galway Kinnell poem snippets

I sit a moment

by the fire, in the rain, speak

a few words into its warmth –

stone  saint  smooth  stone – and sing

one of the songs I used to croak

for my daughter, in her nightmares. (Under the Maud Moon)

Wait.
Don't go too early.
You're tired. But everyone's tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again. (Wait)