Poem: Emergence

221

Emergence

The shrine of the tiny island forest

allows entry after hurtling gales of wind

onto the bridge, until the threshold is

crossed. The gods have been pacified by

our perseverance, and remark on our

long-awaited arrival, like they have been waiting.

Dried yellow leaves hang from the gate,

slick moss skirts along a log once reaching

for the low-hanging sky,

dewy but never cold.

I fall in the face of beauty every time.

I touch my forehead to Earth in reverence for its certainty.

The fall deepens, my thoughts absorbed

like they are the cherished secrets

I have hoped they’d become.

Every step, a new wondrous accounting

of the ground’s ever-presence.

Wild life thrusts upward through

the obstacles we have made.

They will not be appeased,

they do not need our comfort.

The flower unfolding, in scarlet bloom,

never asking why, the tree’s broad

leaves receiving.

I dream of a field where we can sit

and eat the light and drink the little river,

of sitting in the garden, where the sun fills

golden space.

Maybe it’s true, that they’ve been

waiting these long years,

and now we’ve come.

The loveliness of clouds, white and suspended.

This is what the view wants to say:

I am you.

Steam rising over rocks,

a life force carved by love,

carrying the magic
of emergence.

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