It pushes against the door
with the entirety of its weight;
bursting in,
and splashing across the floor,
tracing sloppy circles
in the dust,
untrodden
for how long now?

Curtains flutter in the window,
chasing silence with silken hands;
and sunlight falls like dying leaves
in the corners of the room.

Forcing Autumn.

How many times
have we seen these things;
organized,
dissected,
disassembled,
reassembled,
played out,
desecrated and reborn?

Afraid of spring,
we bow our heads
and shiver against the cold,
while old ghosts cling like tattered rags
to the dry and broken branches of yesterday.

We shake the tree,
and reasons fall in numbers
like dying birds. . .

You cannot
be afraid of this.

Let go.
Let go.
Let go.

‘til every morsel
of food in your mouth
cries out in silent prayer. . .

Let go.
Let go.
Let go.

Divinity
is a ray of sunlight
standing in the doorway,
and the shaving mirror
holds the face of God.

Words rise up
like flocks of startled birds,
and pass away
like rabbits through the leaves.

And inside,
Love
and the peaceful
longing for it;
intimate friends,
concealing their faces
beneath identical masks -

while the thief
crouches silently
in the shadows on the porch,
eyes narrowed;
lips giving rise
to silent prayer.

Let go.
Let go.
Let go. . .

There are 4 great times in every man's life:

The first is when he believes in Santa Claus.
The second is when he no longer believes in Santa Claus.
The third is when he IS Santa Claus.
And the fourth is when he looks like Santa Claus.

He says the weekend

is Jesus

and the Sun dance.

Steam rises

from Grandfather's skin,

stinking of sage

and tobacco.

A prayer

goes into the center,

and out to the Universe,

and is heard.

Days later,

two crows

breaking westward

along the Schuylkill,

before the closing of the flap

and the pressing of the skin

towards April's frigid grass

have not returned.

And we understand our places

in the Dance of Evolution,

when shadows take the walls;

and decades drown

in rivers of intent. . .

Hold on to what is good even if it is a
handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe in even if it is a
tree that stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do even if it is a
long way from here.
Hold on to life even if it is easier
letting go.
Hold on to my hand even when I have
gone away from you.

Ancient Sioux Admonition

Received this as part of a longer e-mail today, and thought I'd pass it along.
 

"If you plant honesty, you will reap trust.
If you plant goodness, you will reap friends.
If you plant humility, you will reap greatness.
If you plant perseverance, you will reap contentment.
If you plant consideration, you will reap perspective.
If you plant hard work, you will reap success.
If you plant forgiveness, you will reap reconciliation.

So, be careful what you plant now; it will determine what you will reap later.
What we are is God's gift to us; what we become is our gift to God."