This Day Will Not Come Again

“A sweet summer afternoon. Cool breezes and a clear sky. This day will not come again.
The young bulls lie under a tree in the corner of their field. Quiet afternoon. Blue hills.
Day lilies nod in the wind. This day will not come again. “
Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander


I expected the slight rise
in the east, the sky
growing slate, then
blushing pink and
suddenly blue.

The winter tree
is often
bathed in gold,

and the familiar song
of thrush and jay,
woodpecker’s rapid tapping
brash geese
shouting,

are often the same
from one to another day.

But this sudden breeze,
freshening breath
of the butterfly,
the warmth
the joyful cry!

My God is here!

I breathe,
I sigh.

(3/19/2012)

Evening Song

In the nearly dark tree

out on the bright edge,

it clings to tender leaves,

rides the wind-swayed branch

and sings.

Small bird,

red as the falling sun,

cries his evening song …

to tarried mate?

to fading sky or

guardian tree?

Drawn deep to darkest night,

I cannot read this creature’s

pure mind; but his breath

leaves my raptured soul bereft.


(4/19/2011)

Joy Fills the Night

Joy fills the night,

sighs, breath

faint as death,

inward fly.

Oh, gaze into the night,

to the emptiness

deep inside

where bright salvation,

in silence resides.

(Sept 15, 2014)

Morning

when the sky is still black

and stars glitter

like there's no

tomorrow,

the overblown moon

luxuriant

above seaborne fog...

this is the time

for faith

when birds,

startled by dawn's

first spark,

raise sharp beaks

and sing

the first song of

morning.

(9/22/2012)

Mid-Summer's Night

Glowing night,

clouds excite

the summer sky -

swaying limbs

in dusky shade

sing praise,

for All’s afire!

Stars tremble,

and planets gyre

but this lovers’ moon,

consumes

the shadowed earth

with passion’s

pure desire.

(7/13/2011)

Above Berkeley (For Connie)

Past stone houses Along the dangerous road We raced, top down Past the homes of the rich Laughing We flew into the night To the top And when we stopped The March wind still filled my hair And lifted my breath High above the bright city (its streets were constellations  Carelessly glittering Diamonds Cast into black waters) But walking past dark bulldozers Beyond the battered, red, warning sign Our laughter suddenly fell Startled by the silver presence Above the trees. We climbed to the peak As a halo encircled the full moon Silenced at last We heard an almost-human cry. Nearly invisible, we saw them, The plaintive, grazing deer. Image: Deer in the Grass courtesy of Ron Jensen 4/28/2013