We split apart in the beginning

During the great expansion

Hearts breaking open

With each loss growing larger

With each good-bye softening

With each morning shining

Though cold dark times we flailed

The great failings

Huge mistakes

Mispoken words

Storms surrounded us

Blowing strong against us

Until we were reduced

Bare bones and sparkling spirits

Wrestling demons and decisions

There was that perfect hello

When all that had been awry

Clicked into place

The great turning of keys in locks

Chains falling unneeded to the ground

Now we fly through clear blue skies

Skimming and diving and circling

Choosing and creating a nest in a tall tree

Under the eaves

Under the daytime moon

We dream soft and pure

True and good

Of that peaceful lake within

Whose shore we never leave behind


I Slept Grateful

In the quiet evening hush

I held this daily accounting

Where did I error there

Where did I do right here

What were those mistakes

And how to approach repair

What did I do well

What can I build from that

With a kindly eye I counted

My thoughts and deeds that day

Thankfulness arises gently

Gratitude showed up too

These little daily blessings

Adding up and adding up

Before each time I close my eyes

I am refined

I sleep sublime

white bed linen
Photo by Kristin Vogt on Pexels.com

Trickster and the Panic Button

Big coyote energy

Sets the lights a’flashing

Warning bells alarmed by

Mistakes rolling downhill growing

Exponentially as each solution goes awry

The stakes are getting higher, and the tension’s rising fast

Each decision leading swiftly to the next thwarted intention

A moment in the chaos the realization makes a showing that this slapstick

Plot comedic can be halted if not reversed with some deep breaths and

A belly laugh rather than with getting seriously ingrained

In the drama of the moment in the fear of what could be

The bolting horse is slowing down

The calm is settling into the

Furrows and the divots

Fate left in the passing

Farewell Coyote bye

Below is a photo of my beloved Pasha, the Equine Saint of Panic, sometimes known as He Who Should Not Be Tied.

He runs gallantly in my dreams, and always in my heart his hoofbeats sing.