Let it Be

Homeostasis comes fleet and 

Comforts for long seconds 

In these solstice nights

Now passed, when

Light and words arrived

In the bark of

Trees, some ancient script, 

In patterns across land flicker-lit by

Late fireflies now come in these 

Last nights, and a

Summer skipping through spring and

Back, just too cold sometimes, or 

Hotter than hells’ bellows

In another life

I trod a highland pasture,

Not sure if I would cultivate it or not

It was the work that wore me down,

I tried to find some 

Balance in the heather and the gorse, 

On tavern floors, heels

Clicking, tapping, schessing,

Sounds lifting me to dancing 

And back to a cottage, still and spare, 

Gleaming whitewashed, perched on 

A cliff side tor

Under a highland moon, while 

Wind-sharp current from the 

North Atlantic carried longing,

Unknown, to never dissipate

I would rather have what 

Could have been

Than what was,

The now is what is, 

A bypassing storm

Leaving beautiful

Grays, lit by wind and motion, 

Whippoorwill call, and 

Other birds;

Bullfrogs tuning into night, and 

Close I hear them, hummingbirds,

Magic, all this motion.

The wind picks up again,

One storm floats away, 

Called across another constellation of

Patterns flying to the here then gone.

It’s like that, I think, 

Storms, light, wind, the 

Zephyr from an ocean shore, the 

Clean wash of stout breeze bringing 

Calm after those 

Cells that moved across

Plains’ skies

Flashed purple, lit by

Silver strikes, now flowing into

Years and decades on, 

And I, in primal memory

Recall how to read the signs, these

Things, alive and singular,

Coming from past, another life, 

Coming across oceans, 

Rolling from the prairie,

All the while when I was

Dancing in the mountains.