There is a poetry that emerges,
when you are still enough to see.
Sunlight on field fence, illuminated,
Tangle of yarrow, spiderweb dew,
Blackbirds winging overhead,
unknown calls in the distance.
My dog wonders why
when I stop to write—
and when I walk again,
I must drag him forward,
wondering
what verses he has heard
in the wet morning earth.
::
When I was a child, I watched a movie
about the town where I now live.
Each morning I walk with birdsong
to the sign that says El Milagro—
praying for a miracle of my own.
When I look at the good green earth
I see my prayers have been answered.
::
I remembered how to live — generously
Give everything away, want for nothing