Here in You: A Poem

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It is always a
coming home,
a remembering,
the air whip thin
and sparkling
a sundance of
unfiltered joy
the crackling
under the feet
of a whole
cycle of life
preparing for
its journey
down, out,
through,
standing still
no matter
where you are
to find yourself
at the epicenter
of the language
of birdsong,
and you don’t
want to
decipher it
because
you realize
you already
understand.
You know you
are here
in you.
 
– TS

A Deep Kind of Love

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Of all the ways I am
if I could approach the varied
splendor of even one flower petal
 
Of all the ways I try
if I could forget, for a moment,
that the doing is already done and here
 
Of all the ways I ache
if I could remember, often, nature’s
thunderous power of renewal
 
Of all the ways I love
if my love could sprout full, deep
and harmonious into the world
 
– TS

Our Essential True

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the creek receding into the heart of the jungle / the hydrangea telling of the coming rain / and there is no receding / and this blue / so rarely found among nature’s offerings / is already here / as we wait / even as we’ve lapsed in our believing / for our belief / does not give us all we have / (we are all that we have and all that we have is us) / but gives us the blood of hope / the still rock of our essential self

– TS

For the Muse

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for the gardens
that never succumb
to the weight of
their history,
for the ancient
wooden structures
that become
more full of love
with each passing
year, until one
day they will
collapse from
the enormity of
this love that has
seeped into
its bones,
for the muse,
which compels me
to bring heart to hand,
word to page,
even when i don’t
know what i
have to say,
even when no
expression will
ever reflect
what inside, too
is always changing,
with gratitude
for the trying,
for the going on
 
– TS

What We Are

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and maybe I can
swirl between the lights
like snowflakes that dance
their small dances with the
winter wind on their way
down or out to their
vanishing point
 
and maybe I have
feeling like a bird
would, living out its destiny
among the clouds, wanting
for it to come down
to rest, in soft defiance
of the order of things
 
and maybe it is
you I follow down every
and all roads, not seeing
the burdens I have
rested upon you, who
knows what love is
and what love is not
 
and maybe, finally,
i will love the snowflake
for its imminent disappearance,
the bird for its freedoms,
and you, always, for
bringing me to the reckoning
of what I am
 
– TS

Come Be the Flower With Me

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when the wondering comes
soft at first, and then like
a howling windstorm
beating on the homestead door
 
and you are as sure
as you have ever been
that you are not what
you are meant to be
 
and that a million
scattered worlds exist
between you and the vision
you had for this one life
 
follow my gaze here,
to the fields and its
bed of springborn flowers
populating the whole world
 
see how their colors are
vivacious, true and pure
and how there is nothing
that can quiet them
 
regard their petals
issuing forth from source
in a dizzying array of
harmonious patterns
 
without notion of end
or completion, without
having to doubt their ability
to unfold in space and time
 
peppering lands with joy
by virtue of presence alone,
which already implies all
magnitudes of being
 
come be the flower with me.
let us mine our own depths
find beauty there, and boldly
give ourselves to the world
 
– TS