Equinox

In September, the trees teach me again That the slow undressing of my soul before resurrection is a bedtime ritual. If I live as a forest does, clasping hands under the earth, drinking sun, making homes for others, my death is temporal. Everything that is beautiful...

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Ocate, New Mexico

In the July afternoons, I listen to the song of sandstone and juniper berries, while meadowlarks converse in wild, trilling loops. Who am I? The rattlesnake warning of my teeth with a rhythm rattle? The wasp stinging when provoked? What will I sing to this soft hot...

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This is Trust

  In Nepal, we squint to find magic in the dust. This high Himalayan sun burns with fervent religion like the gentle monks who offer their whole lives to the bright and searing hope that someone will unclench the cruel fist on the throat of what they love. The...

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