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Soul moves
with the mourning dove
circling the soil
of whatever work
we are born to
The sun swells
red and muddy
flowing down
the rutted riverside
A low breeze coils
along the hollow
where I search out
my friend
all alone
Night knowing
arrives damp
on honeysuckle
tongues tangled
in folded petals
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A silver minnow darts
suddenly through
the clear running
spring
Crickets and frogs
chant this unexpected
advance
This blessed redolence
we are still most deeply
drawn to inhabit
is the holy ground
only found by living
here just now
and by letting go
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