changing times, grief and love. Poem and some prose.

Time curls at the edges

simple beauty of being alone

the shimmering of reality turning

roaring changes as the river cuts down

through the rocks of the ages

and the things that wouldn’t change

with anything less than this

start to creak and shatter.

I hear you when you say

not all can come

The change in mind too massive to comprehend for many

What I can do

What you may vision

What inspires

May be the way to live again after this muddle

and be a place for those who want to thrive.

I take seriously this grieving

as I know you do

this composting and breaking down

so something not yet experienced in these times

might start to unfurl.

I am sorry for the losses on the way

but I see possibilities and I feel them

The unknown gently reveals her form.

It’s like my former life with labouring women

At that edge when all is born

the baby and the mother both

held in mystery all transformed

I m grateful for your company on this journey where time has disappeared

and something else now calls me

urgent and inspiring

Maybe it’s my grandson singing songs of hope

regeneration

I m so grateful that I ve ears to listen and this body that can still touch, feel, hold and create

It’s not too late.

——————

Maybe this is how it feels, transformation.

Something dies for new to grow.

Piercing, oceans of feeling

unknown, ragged at the edges, stillness, hope.

This can never go back to whatever normal was, not inside or without.

Thank goodness.

I lived a foul compromise. Our culture was unsustainable.

I m so grateful for the changes and the edges that they bring.

People are reeling in reaction to limits to our freedoms. Even as the territory is new and tender, even as there’s no way to lay plans other than to stroke the seeds of fortune I feel thrills of potential and the future ones as they sing things home.