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Where I Live


We were all aligned with sacred space

and to be present here, across the bridge

and to drive the ruts of all years gravelly ending

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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