Ink & Gold


I couldn’t put in ink a thought
To justify the gold unfurled,
As sleep began to settle on
My precious, quiet world.

No nature lover could have asked
For her to stay awake.
Living things could never work
Without a well-earned break.

Yet falling leaves can sound like tears
As flowers die and stir my fears.

Tuesday Morning’s Child


Snowy hills have piled;
Whispering wind is heard.
Only Tuesday morning’s child
Makes out every word.

Frosty window-glass,
Snowy blankets grand.
Which dark things have come to pass
Upon this frigid land?

Things the sun has seen,
Things the moon will mourn,
Until every soul has passed
Away and been Reborn.

How can human tongue,
Limited, explain
What has hurt this land so long?
Who can be to blame

For these tears in the earth,
An emptiness that grows?
Words have very little worth;
Tuesday’s child knows.

Near Eden


Water cupped in my two hands
Bears the rich taste of the land.
Paths that loved me brought me here:
Eden must be near.

Maybe when I’ve breathed my last,
When what I know of earth has passed,
I will wander, light and free,
Underneath this canopy.

I drink. The water’s fresh and clean,
And I’m forgetting where I’ve been.
Overhead, a pigeon sings
Of love and gentle things.

If I should dive, would I need air?
Perhaps I would thrive swimming there,
Gathering shells and greeting trout.
I’d never come out.

Pigeon pleads for me to stay—
“Really, it’s a lovely day!”
Eden is not far, I know;
There’s nowhere left to go.