The line winds among Meadows, mountains, As rhythm moves us Through day and night, Between shadows and Fountains of light, Between trees and boulders. Let us be as choo-choos Now, shoveling steam Over our shoulders.
Can I leave the past behind? It returns --never mind-- One learns along the way That was, long ago, And does not go away, Not tomorrow, today, Or now, ever -- go? I'm not clever Enough to know, but Hope the past is kind And careful with our minds.
Under distant light, soul And soul commingle into Single things that cling as Planets roll and ring Ahead of night --and there, If we wait where all Creation resonates, Remains a silence That explains what love Is: it is ours, as at The garden door, your straw Hat fills up with stars.