Collaborators:
Wind, sunshine, water,
clouds, fruit, rocks
Text:
my son asks if I have an idea
of what happens when we die
I tell him I don’t know but yes
I’ve ideas, words, approximations
of concepts outsized by my
grasp—eternal, ephemeral,
what is essential work
in these days when luck
unluck has gone viral
and we cannot hold
hands to pluck hope, ripe
fruit needs to be washed
with sunshine, love, will
to create, postponing
questions past our certainty—
who are the gardeners,
what is the garden, I
ask him, what is essential
for creation, for life
growing, blooming, seeding,
he smiles. The wind uplifts
and we are cirrus high
where we marvel at how
much we see and don’t know,
hear and cannot understand,
hope and do not know how to
hold.
Music:
rocksplash of rapids,
your unswerving heart
—May 17, 2020