Spring and the Broader Field
Rain falls from my hands as I raise the latch.
Where the drops strike loam,
A white mare appears.
Hundreds of mares run over the hillsides!
Vines rise from the whirling manes;
The hooves take root.
White roses burst from the mares’ closed eyes.
Pressing a petal to my chest,
I descend where the ground has opened.
The words I speak become seeds.
When a hawk circled beneath the river,
Its shadow entered my sleep.
What had been stilled moved; clarity returned.
Dreams began to fall from my shoulders,
Stirring me until I woke.
I smiled as I leaned from the door they had opened.
As I stepped forward,
A map shook loose from another’s dream
And fell into my hands.
I held it up so that my dreams could grasp it.
Roots burst from my lungs
And the sun rose.
Stepping to the foot of the stairs,
I watch the moon’s reflection become a wing.
Words sprout from its hardened edge,
Darting above the hills.
Stones begin to sing!
I understand little at first.
Sounds rush past, twirling
The buds they have gathered.
Understanding more and more,
I begin to tremble.
I will return the bones, scale and keys,
Knowing wild flowers bloom
Where I have stumbled.
What a short, lovely season!
I have enjoyed the coolness of morning:
Watched shadows dapple pine;
Rested, hand to loam.
What remains seems wrapped in mended cloth,
As if to be a reminder.
I can sense a broader field ahead.
Newly plowed fields leant me their brilliance.
The breeze hailed furrows in my wake; churned
And noon’s heady brine.
But a robin dove
To bumper height; no time
It cart-wheeled into the brush,
Emptying my hands.