Light Kindling

I. Moth

A winged sunset flutters, drawn
toward the lamp behind me.

Addled by desire
it bumps my knee,
leaves a smudge of moonlight.

Recovering, the moth swoons toward the glow again
heavy-winged and awkward--
a neophyte angel answering summons.

Now stained-glass before the light
it feather-drums the lampshade, insistent,
delirious with longing.


     (Published in Abalone Moon -reprinted with permission)

II. The Visitor

Braided by stones
the stream burbles and chortles,
heads south into afternoon herding a drowned
passenger.

Spreading past mud-mired stumps at dusk
the water swirls into a deep-eyed pond
where fish question the bottom.

Arriving with long ears, whiskers
and paws curled fetal-perfect
the rabbit sinks slowly, stops to hang mid-pool,
undisturbed through the night.

Morning dawns as promised, sun sparkling on the water.

A spotted bass nudges the intruder
up toward light.

III. The Monastery Gardner

Halting his spring weeding between the garden rows
Brother Michael struggles to his feet,
happily shaken by something he must tell the tree
by the monastery garden wall.

"By the fingernails of our Lord Jesus, willow,
I am told that stars water you at night
and the moon pours light into you as you sleep.
How you glimmer today!"

The old monk pauses,
his squinting face a wrinkled walnut
as he watches a swallowtail harvest dew on the leaves.
When the butterfly drifts over the wall, a breeze
ruffles his white hair
the willow shivers,
and grasses beyond the garden ripple.

"Ah, yes, wind, you bring his breath to the troubled
his love for the poor and sick.
Green tree, be comforted!
God has forgiven you of all relation
to that tree where he hung
though you have wept in sorrow since.
And you, grass! Did not your brothers humbly bend
under the feet of the Savior when he walked the
earth?"

His hand trembles to his face.
         "These eyes see his glorious rise in Love."
Suddenly light falls to finger
the beaded abacus of his years.

Not knowing who he is, whether winds or eyes, light,
tree, Christ, garden or grass,
Brother Michael stops, transfixed
among the rows of peas and lettuce,
his weeding forgotten.