Behind the red glass
what being or consciousness
watches our every move?

The voice behind the glass
asks one clear question:
why won’t you let me out?

Beneath the new moon
questions become more frequent,
secrets begin to spill.

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** From the series “The Integration”

Fading Light
Fading Light

I pass trees on either side, deeper into the forest and further form the fields, leaving one realm for another. I feel no fear of the unknown land I am nearing, and at this point there are no active thoughts of what I am leaving. I carry only the moment I am living and move with no effort.

Far from the fields I sing wordless songs. I sing to exposed tree roots, moss covered path, squirrels and birds. I sing to the sky free of clouds, and to the circling ravens. I sing to myself as the forest closes around me until my voice is completely silent.

From the highest peaks
and the lowest depths.

From the valleys
and the oceans.

We cast downward eyes
as her voice is heard.

When our heads rise
we see her presence

we hear her voice
we know what we should do.

I see you in fragmented dreams
images from a life I have not lived

unfocused faces and voices
mouthing words I cannot hear.

I see images on billboards
and movie vignettes where

touching moments break through
the wall 20-years old.

I see you in rare dreams
sourced from beyond this life,

beyond the choice I made
and the weight I have carried.

If you are out there behind
the trees the shadow

following me through the
forest as the sun sets

please let me know,
please let me know.

New poetry has been posted on “Beneath the Remains.”

Weeks have passed since my last visit.

Jack pine needles blanket the pole barn’s roof

a painting of solid green and brown slivers.

The front porch is covered with maple and oak leaves,

spider webs and left-over wood that was cut for fires.

What used to be a driveway is now in the beginning stages

of returning to prairie grasses with spotted wild flowers.

Dragonflies, damselflies, and other winged creatures

casually float 20 to 30 feet overhead and beneath

afternoon blue sky, growing darker as the sun

is sinking below the treeline.

With what little light is left I choose the pruning

shears and work my way to the trail I have spent the past 3-years

cleaning, clearing, and moving deeper into the forest

of countless trees, creatures, and tall guardians.

My goal is to cut branches below 8 feet and leave

a tunnel, allowing more light through and the

path to take on murky, moving shadows.

At the third tree, I stopped, still, silent

and listened as the tree in front of me,

a white birch, spoke my name.

I touched its trunk, felt its heart and energy

and decided that was enough for the evening.

I will leave you untouched, as you are,

guardian of this forest.

I have spent many hours the past few weeks, in quiet contemplation.  Setting aside books, news, papers, pen; I allowed the environment, consisting of the wind, rain, snow, temperature, sun, moon, bird calls, raven squawk – any event to rummage around inside and surface an emotion or memory.

Years have passed and some memories are no longer useful, and I discard them carefully and with purpose.  Even the nasty and regretful memories, some I wish to have back and erase, or live again with different decisions, built the person I am now through the experience.

Spring is a violent season as winter clings tightly for control and extremes become common.  It seems nature has pent up energy and a voice explodes forth.

I fear and respect the physical representations of her voice.

Back to another time and we stand helplessly, silently, as the fire burns.

I feel the warm space I walk within and I breath you deeply.  Today is calm and I can taste your sweet breath, and I know to not take this day for granted, to appreciate and cherish what I have now.  I have learned to allow each to stand alone, as a complete thought and experience, and string them together with the previous and the future ones to come.  This is the life I wish to build.

I have learned to embrace the chaos, and have given up the quest to control the universe or to calm.  Instead I bring the chaos within and rearrange the energy and particles and release what does not work, and consume what does.

Across the arctic, mountains rise in silence, casting long shadows across the tundra, where caribou run for miles and they have learned to coexist with the harsh and sparse environment they live within.

I have chosen to coexist with the chaos simmering and then erupting as I work through these transitions.