31, Epilogue

The year I lost the horizon--
could not see
the sky's relation to the earth.


Year I moved downstairs,
gained a yard and roses
which somehow reminded me
to miss my grandpa.


Year they tore out the fencerow--
end of many
youthful pilgrimages--
and my mother moved away.


Withdrawing year--
a sort of death
without funeral,
without body to face the east.

Adventures of a Speck

I am learning to walk
with air between my fingers,
knuckles relaxed, accepting
that I will never move the earth,
but ride it, spinning, through
distance longer than thought.
Thirty-one times I have whirled
all the way around the sun.

30

The word is "marvelous"
though I hesitate to claim
so extravagant a modifier.
Is there any better word
for the father's party when
his prodigal came home?

We talked of  "every spiritual
blessing in the heavenly places."
"Imagine," the speaker said,
"a dragon load of treasure."
But I will see
goldenrod and purple
asters, Queen Anne's lace gone
to bird nest cups, blood red
leaves, and silver sunrise climbing
to a radiance.

"Heavenly places" sounds
intangible as the blue so
far above arm's length--
yet I have been surprised
by joy as stout and bold
as goldenrod blossoms,
love durable and free
as split milkweed shells.
There are things more real,
even, than fear. I find this
marvelous.

29

I have been neither
very successful
nor very good,
and I am more
ordinary than I
would like to think.
This is the truth,
and truth is always
a gift, and I will soon
have a birthday,
so
I arm myself with the truth
that though I am not
very successful
or saintly and belong, squarely,
in the common horde,
I am, anyhow, beloved--
cradled in tenderness
that will not crush
the leaning blade of grass.

28

So much less sure
of words, ideas, and
correct positioning
upon the earth.
Revelation and confusion--
headlights in fog,
the high beams blind,
while low win
a foot or two
of clarity.
God always offers
just the right amount
of light.