What is it to sit with passion?
Watching the sun hiding over the hill.
Going with the silver child dancing
Into the dim and frightening wood
Where souls go to leave this watery grave.
In the wintry night, wrap yourself
Fully round the sycamore tree.
Touch the ridges of the last autumn leaf.
Stare the mountain lion in the eyes as she
Comes to claim her prey.
In the luminosity of the new moon
Dig a hole to the bottom of your grief.
Be for a while. When was the last time
You felt moist soil against your flesh?
When was the last time you visited
The place you desire to die?
The river that carried baby Moses is still flowing.
The birds still call. The wind still blows.
The sea overtakes the beach and recedes.
If you wait long enough, you may take root.
If you wait long enough, you may grow into someone new.