to the place in you
where fire and silence dwell —
the place of power.
to that pool in you
of weedless water —
the place of knowing.
the moss bright path
to your Grandmother’s house —
the place of song.
to the last strawberry —
the freshness of God.
From Firesong (Aotearoa New Zealand:
Steele Roberts Ltd.), copyright 1999.
All rights reserved.
Posted with kind permission of the poet.
I sent him from home hardly more than a child. Years later, he came back…
So many colors abandon the earth, and go skyward to the trees like origami birds,…
may there be a listening rather than a making curiosity over expectation, lightness and ease,…
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