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This Moment

This time this moment this now

of deluxe wild blissful contentment

I can put down to nothing in particular:

the unquestionable isness of it

the unabashed mmmm of it humming

warmly in my festooned heart

waltzing its way down to my toes

jiving up and out to the ends

of each grey and brown hair

on my one and only head

not to mention along the way

sparking up a plethora

of sweet little cells pockets

molecules neurons and protons

all smooshed delicately together

through choo-choo train tunnels of

veins and arteries carrying all

manner of whatnot to where

it once and for all belongs

smack dab squarely

in this luscious time

this delightful moment

this yummy

scrumptious

exquisite

now.

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Life of a Creek

God or Nature has given us

a cloudy wet morning and I

will take that happily today

I’ll take it all happily even

the painful catch in my neck

the awful smells of my two dogs

the ache in my elbow

the roof that persistently leaks

for whatever reason I cannot know

for I have climbed over a hump

a hillock really that once seemed

a cliff with only a jumping-off

place on the other side

climbed over it to find of all things

bluebells! violets purple and white

(and even yellow) two box turtles

one large one half grown

a flutter of chickadees

a merry creek rolling on and on

never giving up never saying

Oh I have so had it with these rocks

this fallen tree that bend those two ducks!

but going on as a creek will do

just because that is what

a creek will do and so

if you please

will I.

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Lent

Lent begins today, forty days of sacrifice.

On Ash Wednesday as uniformed girls in

Catholic school we were given

boxes with forty pockets meant

to hold forty nickels. If we managed

to fill all of the pockets with nickels

we were entitled to purchase and name

a pagan baby!  What an extravagant prize!

A child a human being (even a pagan)

is by any measurement quite a prize.

My sister dutifully gave up her nickels

in exchange for a document

certifying that she had indeed

purchased and named a pagan baby.

She named the pagan baby Kathleen Marie

after me. Handily, all of us schoolchildren

had also learned to baptize any hapless

pagans in the unlikely event we

encountered one in Real Life.

My own nickels likely went the way

of Hershey’s semi-sweet chocolate bars.

I was never much good at Lent.

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Hawks vs. Owls

Pair of hawks circling over our yards

which means they are likely planning

to nest in the pine tree again which

is all well and good but which also

means that the barred owls will not

which is something of a disappointment

as owls are more mysterious less

common which makes them more

exciting and also easier to place into

a nice story in which they attend tea parties

wearing neckties and spectacles

speak in deep soothing voices of

books and letters and philosophical

ideas about life love and language

and their babies do not screech

all day long to be fed like

the unruly children of

red-tailed hawks.

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No Sun

No sun today no tiny speck of sun

that is to say no ball or ray that I can see

just piles and piles miles and miles

of cloud looking so heavy one

would think it might all fall

to the earth at any moment in

giant blobs and blankets

impenetrable

lying heavily over All

stopping All in our tracks

offering a perfectly good excuse

for eating sleeping and reading

this whole day right away.

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Four Sycamores

Pink orange coral ribbons cross

a lightening blue sky behind the stark black

chaos of bare trees and I wonder why

I am not up before dawn every day why

I am not pouring these colors those shapes

into my small brain for safekeeping

day upon day upon day why

I do not lie on my back in the frosty

grass gazing up at the black sky

with all its stars and its moon why

I do not keep myself in the small room

of four sycamores gathered together

there where they reach up courageously

higher than I could ever dare climb

why I am not there now why

I was not there ten minutes ago why

ever other things seem more pressing

more important more worthy somehow

easier to lose.

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Risking Everything

Shall we mightn’t we risk

everything in this one short
life we have here right here
right now?  Mustn’t we 
love wholly this perfectly imperfect
world those flawed wandering
souls that grand old tree that
tiny finch the very songs of All?

Must’t we love All 
in the fiercest possible way

give our whole tender hearts gladly
wrapped triumphant in knowing
that this risk this love this tearing
open to reveal a beating heart to
give All while we can in this 
brief slip of time is the grandest
most best onliest chance we will
ever have to be real human beings?