Alan: Sometimes, all one can do is witness...
At The Center
Night of no moon, thick clouds,
and so much rain!
Dark as a bear’s den. Dawn
shambles out at last, pauses, and sits
heavily, as if to say, “no farther.”
You move to the sofa, trying to find
sleep and the easing of pain.
Songs of Kuan Yin on the iPod,
gentle breathing from a higher realm:
in the kitchen, where I tidy the dishes,
almost subliminal between sudden
paroxysms of rain hammering the roof,
wind chimes all clanging at once,
leaves smacking the windows:
so many musics vibrating together
and at their center,
surrounded by so much
caring surrounded by so much uncaring,
so much pain.
Nancy: Have you ever preferred your Then to your Now?
The Old Woman Says "Then!"
Last week the northeaster blew
color out of the saltmarsh and left
bladder wrack on the lane. Today
the snow whitens the garden and
leaves the late flowers drained.
The old woman says "no, not yet,
too soon." She will not say "Now."
She growls. Bearlike, the old woman
snuffles her way. She sweeps away snow
with her paws. She rolls away stones.
She feels criss cross with the world.
"No, not yet, too soon. No, not yet,
The poor old woman goes this way
and that, this way and that . . .
searching for the path to Then.
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