Breathings

1

It matters what we call this life:
a passage of time from life to death
or a pilgrimage from death to life.

It matters for an eternity.

“For we are always dying —
I while I write,
you while you read.”¹

2

Ever on the wing
The past catches your sight
And in swift assailment
Draws blood

3

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Walking with you, my love
In the springtime hiatus
Of the day, the sun gold
On your head, hope warms
A blushing glow on trees,
Blooms with Sabbath grace.

4


You and I have been on this marble blue
spinning, careening three-and-thirty courses
round a brilliant star, hitched to the Way,
circumnavigating life, teeter-tottering
in an improvised dance,
whirled apart and together,
taking on canons of fiery betrayals,
solar flares of pain enduring,
tidal floods of circumstance,
but still riding high,
bowling head-over-heels,
borne by the eternal Light,
and I’m still learning you,
leaning into you,
loving you.