FIRST BREATH

Last night after Solstice sunset
we went out to view the night sky from the azalea farm
to see if we could see the conjunction
of Saturn and Jupiter.

Back home the tree is quiescent, still holding half the summer’s
leaves, still holding hibernating bugs deep in its bark,
the true markers of time,
working slowly to simply exist, their existence
shortening the lifespan of the tree
and thus all things, even the mountains, worn by rain
and wind, melt to grace, a blessedness
we barely hear, a background silence
that says, You are here intentionally to live a while.

We need a reason . . . are we not humans
used to thinking of something to explain ourselves?
I say call it Love
or any word that resonates deep in our hearts.
It is suffering to think about right and wrong.
There is no time – that slicing of experience
like all illusions, like thinking.
It is not singing, not vulnerable, not deeply beautiful,
not the whisper
in your ear.

12/22/20