Grace and the ground

Three things I am seeking,

light, grace and the ground.


If you know

what it means to deeply crave


that blinds you from yourself,

blinds you from feeling the emptiness

of this day

which has become your life,

than you

and I

are one.


I have heard the wild woman’s call.

A merciless wolf

on the dark ridge

hunting for wholeness

from within a gaping hole

that was once

a full heart.


The choice to hear her

has been made.

The choice to hear

the subtle sounds of snow

has won.


Under a vast night sky,

far from bridges, dealers, drinkers,

a painful novel of mistakes

far from Brooklyn

I have traded a sky high apartment

to shovel a path

to the shed.


I have traded cocaine deliveries

for a long dirt driveway

and a little stream.

I have traded bars for the forest floor.


Into this kingdom, come.

Fear and shame

are guests some nights.

We chant by the fire,

hold court in the bathtub

cut through the snowdrifts

to fetch the mail.


My door has cracked open.

Wild turkeys emerge through the woods

at dawn

pecking tracks in the mud

while my heart syncs

with the swing

of Mother Moon.


Let’s begin

a chance to live.


Grace and the ground.

I will chop wood.

I will tap trees and carry water.

I will drop

to my knees

in the leaves

by the shed.

Face Father Sky

and pray to everything that is,

for something as simple

as joy.