The high C
The song sung at an internment
The song sung at a sacred moment
The song sung at a passing
In each place and time,
given of myself fully…
And, this moment,
as candles burn
feeling lost and without
anchor to a place
anchor or moorage
in bay or at quay
so sensing a rising
resentment to this state.
Sun breaks upon
rising mountains
tears of falling
raining from upwelling
eyes blurred in
light of day.
To Palmer’s questions:
What do I need
to let go of?
What do I
want to give myself to?
These gentle query
basking in fall sun
guide the boat.
A dear friend,
declared a shooting star
a swift passing
across the sky.
That same friend,
called out surround;
armor all around
with butcher’s bill
from tilting ground
with broken
with battered
head to hands
again to questions…
What do I need to let go?
What do I want to give
myself to?
And again…
What do I need to let go?
What do I desire to give
myself to?
In the rising
the walking at
the altar in the world
a gentle echo.
A gentle kiss
the all of creation
the surround of
that giving in moment.
