FEBRUARY

NIGHT STEW

Last night I woke at 3:30, didn’t get back
to sleep.

The mind-switch had snapped on.

The invitation to kayak Kedges Strait

threw trauma into my pot,

a perceived slight simmered

with way too much seasoning,

and then other qualms came running,

jumped into the night stew. 

I tried to turn the heat down

with the breath of deep breathing,

gave thought to reading

but didn’t want to turn the light on,

thought too of going downstairs

for a glass of milk (but feared

that too would really wake me),

then offered up prayers

to any god that would listen.

But, by this time

another switch had snapped on

and I crawled out of bed,

walked across the cold, tile floor,

used the bathroom,

returned and saw the green face

of the clock

staring impassively

and knew

this night was cooked. 

BECOMING OTHER

Last night I came, sat in your presence,

listened,

wrote a few lines,

offered a few words,

but it wasn’t

until our voices joined together

in vibrant

harmony of song and chant

that I dissolved

and we

became one.

THE WORK OF QUIET

They say, idle hands are the work of the devil,

but I say, Not always so. 

Busy hands were the ones that wanted, craved,

took, amassed, polluted, bombed.

Go, I say, sit in silence, give those idle hands

to the work of quiet, the one you call God.