Sacred Space Nonet
I follow breath’s path of fading thoughts.
Weightless grace, this is not like death.
This is nothing on a list,
barely me on my knees.
This is everything.
This is nothing.
This is me
Maybe Mother Nature sent us to our rooms
for being cruel to her creatures
and making a mess of her house.
And while we were brooding,
she let all the ones who were here before us
out to play and fly and swim, to seed and grow,
to clean and darn the gills and the wings and the roots.
This was her simple logic.
Maybe what she didn’t expect is how many of us
would take this time to make repairs of our own,
to sew up the rifts,
send small word parcels to strangers,
to open the windows and sing
to the birds who have lost an egg.
Yesterday I heard a donkey bray,
the loud staccato bellow rising from
the belly like a frightened choke.
And then such a deep retch of sorrow
that another answered in mimic.
In the bray, I thought I recognized
the grasp of
abandonment, or eternal solitude,
or loneliness, plain and simple. And I
wanted to open my ribs and lungs and
release the same cry, but instead
I found the donkey, tethered to a tree,
standing in the circle of his own grazing
and I told him he was beautiful
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