The One Thing

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Mourning_Dove12

“Happiness consists in finding out precisely what the ‘one thing necessary’ may be, in our lives, and in gladly relinquishing all the rest. For then, by a divine paradox, we find that everything else is given us together with the one thing we needed.” Thomas Merton

rain
falling
tenderly
on spring grass, on leaves
bending as two mourning doves moan,
beat wide their wings and brush back the sky, falling low to
dark earth, gladly would I give it
all for a moment
in the glow
of your
eyes!

(9 April 2013)

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Abernathy Road Roundabout

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Bronze angel, strong arms
lifting the rainbow,
you stand in the center.

Our fast cars veer around
north, then east
to shop, to school,
to home

but we can’t see
what you see.

Even the truckers,
who lumber down
Abernathy Road
and enter the circle
with heady grapes
ready for press, for barrel,
for thick, green bottle

steer past you.

Our lives are scheduled over-full.
We all have
some place else to go

until unfulfilled,
we return at last
to our bright center,
and in your embracing arms
we rest.

Author’s note:

Image: Mother Nature by Lisa Reinertson, in traffic circle

at Rockville and Abernathy Roads, Suisun Valley, CA.

Aubade: Morning Dove

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Dawn fires
the cold roses
one-
at-
a-time,
when, with
planetary urge,
all explode to
vermillion
conflagration.

Then the cherry tree,
plain in
drab leaf,
erupts into
emerald
glory,

and high
from the bright rooftop
the mourning-dove
sings
his low, plaintive
song of
love.

Night Falls

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Photo: Brian Federle, “Open Gate” Pacific, 2012

 

Night falls

slowly in spring
through trees newly flush
with unfurling leaves.

Birds rush

through swaying limbs
to newly-built nests,
to lives yet to live

as day fades
to shimmering silk,
as stars gleam with

celestial milk.

Hope at Sunset

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Photo: Brian Federle, Oregon, 2014

Across the fading valley
The silver bay shines,
effulgent edge
under twilight hills.

Confined
flat waters
cut a thin line
beneath dark heights.

Saw-toothed ridges
rip thin clouds
to ragged shreds —

the plunging sun ignites
the resplendent light
of love
for this sad, winter world.

Evening Prayer

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Wind stirs in expectation; it
softly strokes my face.

The March sun reassures me,
warms pale flesh
through layers of thick sweater
and winter coat.

Under indigo hills
new grass flows,
yellow and green,

as past distant ranges,
to the sky-bright, rounded sea
he flees and sends us
a gift of clouds,
aflame
in glory.

Peace be with the grass of the fields!
Peace
to dark hills and drifting clouds,
and to the sacrificial sun
peace!

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?