Healer

When I was a child
I knew I was destined
to repair those ripped seams of skin
where the smell of blood
turns black
and eyes cry out
in audible agony.

Boys gathered near me
to watch my skill
in attracting ants
and the shining shells of beetles
on the playground
so that we might
build kingdoms and control destiny
for a little while.

Grateful,
we slowed the space
between the movement of day
into endless night.

Once a newly hatched robin
fell into that place of stillness
and the ants and beetles
disassembled her body,
carried her off to the burial grounds
with elegant ceremony
and prayers
to no one.
Each small and powerful body
released mystery into the air
like the notes
of a song.

“Watch us,” they said in their musical movement.

“Watch here and know
the envy of every healer
as they plunge their spirit
into the cavity of the body
and come out
dripping
with life.”

Helpless

Chase the thought
that control of anything
is in your grasp
and watch reason,
or the shadow of sanity,
disappear.

You can no sooner control
sadness in the fibers of the heart
than you can control the light
that creeps over the hills at dawn
when fog has come to rest
in the grasses
and disappears--
vanishes when touched
by the sun.

There’s no arguing
with the curving ache
in the bones of your fingers
as joints expand
after years of hard labor
and with the holding
of the hands of all your children
as they fall into gentle sleep.

Honey is the helpless product
that buzzing bees
manufacture in their mouths
and that sooths
the wounds we cannot mend
with the essence of clover
or time.

Waging war with the sleeping giants
of death and unusual pain
are battles you will never win—
As skilled as you have become
with the blade of your certainty
and sword,
you will fail and fall
to those forces of gravity
and collide with the absolute truth
of ash blowing silent in the wind.
Instead, make friends
with water and the cleansing joy
of surrendering to your tears.
It is courage enough
to greet the honest face of love
with that much fear.