Many Ways of Landscape

Trusting that the
Cache of iterations
Takes shape
Finally after time
And tears,

The landscape:
Heart
Contour
Texture
Scent
Longing
Remembrance

Writing on it,
I begin to
Reassemble.

Protect

She talks me down from
The angry tree; remember,
She says,
Seneca is our female
Self, rich and nourishing.

Remember to take
What We Protect
And channel it into
This stream of life,
Water is life, and
Mother nourishes.

Seneca reminds:
Ancient (weathers storm)
Deep (harbors dream)
Mighty (endures strife).

There, up there
The Dipper is faint
Perhaps just the way of the
Stars aligning

In the mostly dark sky
North north west
Nothing reveals
But a singular way forward

Lovely
Seneca Lake across the
Hector Backbone, while finding
Me, needing less than
The geography here

Just at my psychic home
On the western edge.

Balancing

Escaping the tyranny of the
Necessary fight
I come to sit outside

Here, in some larger grace
In this long twilight
I could not possibly engineer, and meanwhile
The shred of sun turns
To a tangerine slice

Tucked in the far spruce hedge.
I watch as the grey sky settles
And gazing, I remember the
Light

Light

Be the best
And closest to who
you can be

Let the odd bits be themselves
Enough and true,
Little whole worlds as

The mystery seems close;
Might just be when we
Say goodbye we
Think for an eternal moment
On those we love, and
How hard we tried
On the long rich trip.

Late July

This is all there is to making
Sense:
I walk out the back
Door
And I smell the lilies from the far
Back barn beds
And walking towards
The heady pull of
Life we don't script
We just hope and wait
I feel the expanding universe
Come to meet me,
I set my wine on the stone
Walls with
Lilies cloaking my shoulders
I look at the colors of the
Perfect world
And despite the truth I know
The balance blooms and
I am calm,
Replenished for the struggle.