Love Poems to God, II, 22 You are the future, the red sky before sunrise over the fields of time. You are the cock’s crow when night is done, you are the dew and the bells of matins, maiden, stranger, mother, death. You create yourself in ever-changing shapes that rise from the stuff of our days— unsung, unmourned, undescribed, like a forest we never knew. You are the deep innerness of all things, the last word that can never be spoken. To each of us you reveal yourself differently: to the ship as coastline, to the shore as a ship.

Summer in the Methow Purged from the hive, she hovers, then dives into the stamen’s glow. Spring gold A whirling dervish on the Nootka rose I want work like that! Work that makes me dizzy Makes me drunk on sweet nectar finds me dancing across the plush, pink petals of all that I love. -Kathy Heffernan I was riding the route 14 bus last Thursday toward downtown and gazed up at the words and images posted overhead.  My eyes were of course drawn to the poem in the midst of all the advertising.  The Methow is a valley in the North

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  Sunrise to sunrise, prayerful rhythm of the day. Will we be awake? ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ -Haiku by Antony Hanson at Coming to the Quiet / photo is mine taken on Saltspring Island

There are so many gifts Still unopened from your birthday, There are so many hand-crafted presents That have been sent to you by God. The Beloved does not mind repeating, “Everything I have is also yours.” Please forgive Hafiz and the Friend If we break into a sweet laughter When your heart complains of being thirsty When ages ago Every cell in your soul Capsized forever Into this infinite golden sea. Indeed, A lover’s pain is like holding one’s breath Too long In the middle of a vital performance, In the middle of one of Creation’s favorite Songs. Indeed, a

Ninth Duino Elegy (excerpt) Earth, isn’t this what you want?  To arise in us, invisible? Is it not your dream, to enter us so wholly there’s nothing left outside us to see? What, if not transformation, is your deepest purpose?  Earth, my love, I want that too.  Believe me, no more of your springtimes are needed to win me over – even one flower is more than enough.  Before I was named I belonged to you.  I seek no other law but yours, and know I can trust the death you will bring. -Rainer Maria Rilke from In Praise of

Testimony (for my daughters) I want to tell you that the world is still beautiful. I tell you that despite children raped on city streets,  shot down in school rooms, despite the slow poisons seeping from old and hidden sins into our air, soil, water, despite the thinning film that encloses our aching world.  Despite my own terror and despair.   I want you to know that spring is no small thing, that the tender grasses curling like a baby’s fine hairs around  your fingers are a recurring miracle. I want to tell you that the river rocks shine like