warm december days…
we are all fish,
however you get to that perspective,
is your business.
For me, today, I walk with the family dog
up through the backwoods and hills –
with its silent portent of warmer things to come.
But the soul dances at the chance to
walk easily through a wet forest on
a warm afternoon in December.
if you stop and look at the milkweed –
a milkweed – or this rock, covered in lichen –
you will see that we are indeed all fish,
and we swim in a vast and wondrous sea.
I have seen these seas, remote islands in Indonesia,
and so I know, a little,
of what I speak.
While I stood here, in the open, lost in myself,
I must have looked a long time
Down the corn rows, beyond grass,
The small house,
White walls, animals lumbering toward the barn.
I look down now. It is all changed.
Whatever it was I lost, whatever I wept for
Was a wild, gentle thing, the small dark eyes
Loving me in secret.
It is here. At a touch of my hand,
The air fills with delicate creatures
From the other world.