Three things I am seeking,
light, grace and the ground.
If you know
what it means to deeply crave
anything
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.