Loving Measures

In mystery,

Mother Earth nurses us.

We live at creation’s breast.

Crow opens a plastic bag for food inside.

Another glides into the lot searching for more.

They stand together at a roof’s verge

Survey the comings and goings in the street.

A man carries a large cardboard box on a black bicycle.

The crows are joined by another pair.

A fifth perches in a nearby tree.

First one then all take to air.

The cloud fingered sky holds their flight

invisibly swirling around their winged bodies.

The wings, the eyes, the dirt full of life

bodies of water, air and emptiness,

consciousness of holy ones

touching spirits and minds

all measures of a loving mystery.

Coming Into Being

It is not by chance  that we come to be

nor by design

but by love which makes hope possible.

Love pouring itself out in hope

we may awaken

and in awakening know our true nature.

Love, confident in its ability

to transform wreckage into heaven

is the seed’s seed.

We are lovers

fruit of hope

becoming the Beloved’s intended

choosing from among the possibilities

which the universe arrays

to be the light of love.

Naked Myrtles

The wind has died down

rain falls straight to the ground.

It is mid-morning but the night’s lights are still on.

The crepe myrtles stretch naked, sand and tan

wet and content in their perfection.

The gray day burns with life.

All its forms burning in the rain.

And the rain is earth’s burning breath

adding fuel to the fire

feeding the flame.