First Snow

It begins again;
the white of snow on the open field
after the flock of turkeys dance
together in their loving way,
then depart into the arms of the forest.

The white begins
like a simmer of an idea,
hope and dread,
in the eye of the beholder.

We spot the first flakes,
almost an oasis in this deserted time of waiting.
The darkness threatens to devour all light
in the rationing of fewer and fewer days.

Those of us who have traveled
to the edges of never know
the hope of each glassy miracle,
falling, millions of bodies transformed water
witnessing the sky
as a child born
laughing at another chance
to live in the images
of God.

Water's Twin

Who will I call to when this super moon
has opened fully to the sky
and I am crazy for the sea?

I imagine again
that I am a lone she-wolf
who wants to howl,
but dares not.
There is so much to lose
when you have nothing to give.

Instead,
I curl into myself
in the warmth of some stranger’s cave
and wait for the silence of the night
to protect the savage longing
I have been given
for something Holy.

What should I expect?
The truth is,
I am the twin of the waters,
born in the late winter
of another woman’s life.
I must soak in the heat
of that enormous love
before I can give myself
to anyone.

Hold me
on the edge
of the wide horizon
so that we might welcome the sun
at the quiet of the civil twilight

between the shore
and the raging ocean
of every sacred partnership
we will ever know.

Here we can only flow
from the voice of God.