So Go I

Northern cardinals perform a vigorous concert in dogwood arms off the corner of the house. Their culled notes stay all day long. It doesn't take much to wish I'd died in that dream of ours. For now, spring comes all on its own. One way or another, everything returns to the ground.

Gas leaf blowers underpin birdsong as a grating din I cannot block. Is any rapprochement possible? A wild otherness exists – I see it – I hear it. It plays in concert with my status-quo life. It remains numinous and mysterious, yet compliments the more mundane tangibility of existence.

I sat with M as she traveled with mushrooms. I thought I would be a distant sail on her horizon but instead I landed with her at every port and harbor. My nearness to Home led me further from myself. Where she goes I go. Where you go, so go I.

Dickinson's flowers as ministry. Gilbert's nakedness in the pitch pines. Without foliage, the world is too loud. M offers to trade body work for plants and so the deal sweetens. I am meant to grow things but I am selfish in my desire.

Spring is here and so the she-bear wakes earlier. She lumbers as she paws the earth; she scouts the river for salmon. Hints of where you've been linger in the air and yet she need not track it. You linger in coat. You stain her nails red.