peace, barefoot
walking slowly toward me
floating grey and silver
the Holy flashing through
peace, a gathering of flickering angels
he then she then he again
pausing to dance the dual world
braiding the misty initiation
peace, even as a child
I loved the ashes
a signature of truth
sealed on my forehead
Ash Wednesday
can Kairos* hang with the laundry
in an Ashcan School painting
hopeful and clean
there on a New York rooftop
certain of a better day
that stop-time ikon,
right there, beaconing to us
to cross a threshold
yet blocking the passage
all held up by sturdy wooden clothespins
not to worry, hey
have a little faith
*The perfect moment, revelation through a look or happening, a sudden realization of the holy encased in the immediate
a wispy mystic song
caresses my old deep bones
memory and music
a delicate flow of time
through morning
in, over, and around
this new day's dawn
as the beauty is stripped away
the long untended path opens
then
you might realize that you
are not your own
Northern Lights break out across
your sky
and they are not yours
nor is the sky
the language is uncoded
yet here you are
guessing
upstart part
little chunk
wild and alive
where we all teeter
between imagination and solid ground
starting again and again
on our beloved shifting beach
that refuses to draw straight lines
but flows winding round and round
driftwood and tidal pools
and the slippery, shinny shells
of new beginnings
a time of partial sleep
and partial memory
and partial wandering
through folded time
bumping into sudden
disfunction
yet it is warm here
a nearby melody
the sound of bare feet
crossing aromatic fallen leaves
hand washing a red pan
when another banjo event
enters my head
somebody riding a goat
what is the matter with that instrument?
tuned by the devil, they used to say
why does it keep playing
those rogue songs?
now it's playing Old Dan Tucker
must be Dick's spirit
coming round for his birthday
Down the Old Plank Road
