Where I Live

 

We were all aligned with sacred space

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and to be present here, across the bridge

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and to drive the ruts of all years gravelly ending

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and at the beginning not to know the end but be inspired

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and stand in the velvet morning magenta roof black crows call out

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and know a small voice counts for everything and can be heard in silence

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and feel the plenty of it and the sharpness of its edges as the green spills paint

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and dogs chase deer and chainsaws grind and eggs break in the dawn with some effort

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and to be called into that forest grave, not afraid, everyone will come to your party that night

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and to see the fire in beauty not in fear, though you’re a fool and what to do so fill your eye in light

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and treasure the bonfire, even thought it is nothing to anyone else because they do not worship every day

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and slip into the place between you and the unholy world that wants your credit card, often best just sidestepped

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and to silence the black hard plastic rooms and let the cedar soloist cascade into the field with the sound of dusk

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and to gather in the light before the place becomes obscure, pick up one last hitchhiker with his guitar, sing all the way home