The Goodness of March

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Photo: S. Federle

The goodness of March,
rain, strong winds,
buds swelling —
the everyday
resurrection.

The tree
we planted last year
on the first anniversary
of your passing
is blooming,

its small, pink bursts
quietly exploding
in the green glow
after the storm.

I smile to see it —
thin, wavering limbs
climbing to the sky, defiant
in the March wind.

Are you smiling too?

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Cold Winds

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Cold winds,
the sharp edge
of winter — hard
and solid and blue —
fires dull fields to green
as slate-grey trees
their secret lives
reveal.

Immanence

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I know you stroll
beyond Andromeda
gazing on Magellanic Clouds,
but I cannot see that far.

I am stardust
to Earth-fallen.

Yet I seek you in the autumn rain,
hear you singing in the evening wind.

Your breath fills my empty lungs,
your smile lights
my darkened eyes,
and my heart overflows
with your sacred blood —

love spilling,
Earth-fulfilling.

Rush of Waves

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Photo: Brian Federle, Pacific Sunset, 2014

rush of waves, surging
ocean, atmosphere,
west wind filling night
with the sound of earth

careening through canyons
of empty, endless space!

(14 May 2013 – 2 Jan 2019)

We Sing

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“The rain ceases, and a bird’s clear song suddenly announces the difference between Heaven and hell.” Thomas Merton

Over bright fields
we fly.

Thin slips
of consciousness,
bounded by darkness,

we rise
on our song’s
golden glow,

not knowing
how descends
the growing edge
of nothing.

 

(7 July 2012)

After Christmas

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Photo, Brian Federle: Desert Tree, Palm Springs, Dec. 2016.

After Christmas
life persists, though
the bare trees are
dancing with death,

their leaves ripped
from living flesh;
disincarnate,they wait
for the storm.

So how, then, can I endure?

I live that day every day,
clenched fists pounding
my penitent heart, crying
Mea culpa! Mea culpa!

What kind of a father am I,
absent at the hour of your need?

Oh, forgive me, my son!

Surely tomorrow
the rain will come.

(28 Dec. 2018)

On the Feast of St. Stephen

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The Martyrdom of St. Stephen by Peter Paul Rubens 1616-1617

“The life of the soul is not knowledge, it is love, since love is the act of the supreme faculty, the will, by which man is formally united to the final end of all his striving – by which man becomes one with God.” (Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain)

See how wind tears, how
clouds ravage the sky
to shreds…

Can you hear the geese fleeing
shouting dread
as the savage storm crouches?

Are you afraid?

I know
how the sea sometimes
launches boulders;

but the stubborn land
bows and waits
and, swollen, forgives

with torrents of life;
rivers of joy.

(2013-2017)