In your despair, did you crawl on bended knee,
seeking salvation in distant meadows?
Did you circle the sacred peak three times?
Meanwhile, the wild geese seek true north,
calling out for their homeland in the sky.
Sometimes we forget that the journey
is both the answer—and the question.
As I mend the ends of my life, stiff fingers
seek the melancholy dreams of leaves
among the detritus of fallen branches.
While the stars burn, supernovas waken,
saving more lives other than just mine.
There is no one way to tell a story.
The power of the word made real.
Listen to the wild geese stitching the lake
with their wings. It is a quilt to keep us safe.
No matter which way the wind blows,
the path leads ever onward,
it knots the lake into a gossamer shawl
made of twilight and the lost skeins of sunset
while the geese circle, and settle in,
to converse about the day’s progress.
8/23, Writing through trauma workshop with Carolyn Holbrook. Soul Bone Literary Festival, MIU, Zoom event
1 comment:
A mesh of my 2 favorite poems and now there is a third🌹Teri
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