Toothless and electrified as I walked toward you,
"My dog is mean, can I pet yours?"
Fathers grin fearful I might say hello,
Dance, child, dance at the edge of the wood.

The boy's long eye-lashes stroke the fine fur,
Men turn their backs, legs astride, not a word.
Cast their rods, hunt down the children they once were,
Dance, child, dance at the edge of the wood.

Four fish lie dead, gills heaving, beating dirt
"Have a good day," each word pierces a worm.
To the lake, to the horizons, slay the stranger within,
Dance, child, dance at the edge of the wood.

Lay me down by the water
Under low branches, safe from the sun
On my side, as though slumbering
Far away from the guns.

Lay me down under the spring soil
Not far from my young
Near the lair where they play
Until the strangers come.

Lay me down under rocks
Unwarmed and unsung
And remember me with the others
That men have undone.

Written by the executor of the she fox's or vixen's last testament.

I first saw you in April
All wrapped up in white,
And all I could think of was
Hold up the sky.
 
Hold up the sky
Hold up the sky
I first saw you in April
Hold up the sky.
 
You swam underwater
So deep, I could cry.
Pray, come up for air!
I’ll hold up the sky.
 
Hold up the sky
Hold up the sky
You swam underwater
I’ll hold up the sky.
 
You jumped off a ledge
Dead sure you would fly.
I covered my eyes and thought:
Hold up the sky.
 
Hold up the sky
Hold up the sky
You jumped off a ledge
Hold up the sky.
 
Too fast, they said,
But you were pedaling for your life.
I knew your spirit
I’d hold up the sky.
 
Hold up the sky,
Hold up the sky,
Too fast, they said,
I’d hold up the sky.
 
When the silence descended
I shuddered with fright,
But I’d fix it, I’d save you,
I’d hold up the sky.
 
Hold up the sky
Hold up the sky
When the silence descended
I’d hold up the sky.
 
You walked through the tunnel,
I was nowhere in sight.
The hurt was grinding
But you held up the sky.
 
Hold up the sky
Hold up the sky
You walked through the tunnel
And held up the sky.
 
They tried to divide us
But solo’s no way to fly.
With the wind of our wings
We held up the sky.
 
Hold up the sky
Hold up the sky
They tried to divide us
We held up the sky.
 
The night was so dark,
I’d pulled down the blinds.
I was ten miles to nowhere
And you held up my sky.
 
Hold up the sky
Hold up the sky
The night was so dark
And you held up my sky.
 
Red-faced infant,
Mother so fine,
You are my sister
Love held up the sky.
 
Hold up the sky
Hold up the sky
You are my sister
Love held up the sky.
 
For Evelyn at 50.
(lyrics still looking for a melody)

What will we grow during this time?

Will our capacity to be still and appreciate our homes, for those of us who have homes to appreciate, grow?

Will our family relationships deepen or toughen?

Will our hunger to socialize and travel become so acute that it spills over into all manner of insane and angry behaviours?

Will we be more, or less quick to judge others?

Will we grasp that we are nature or will we muse at the clear skies and rejuvenation of the wild as though these are passing scenes in a play?

Will pre-existing divisions such as class, ethnicity and religion be bridged or widened?

Is this the great unifier or the great divider, the beginning of the great consciousness or the great unconsciousness?

Are we the subjects or the objects of our time?

Will we ask questions or bend reality to one answer?
​
Morning Corona musings.

I thank your god for you,
Your clean, round face under a pink scarf,
Color of women's disease, caring and rebellion.
I thank your god for you,
A learned woman quietly dispensing knowledge and concern,
Ever more rare in a system parched of self-respect and calm.

I thank your god for you,
As you tell me in an Arabic accent that I won't feel the needle or the pain,
Dissolved in the stories of your family scattered across the continents by violence.
I thank your god for you,
As my blood flows toward your heart and into the vial,
You give me water, as though we had survived the desert together.

I thank your god for you,
As an old man who speaks the ancient tongue ignores our orderly queue of numbers,
You serve him across the counter with your sharp intelligence gleaming from your white silk scarf.
I thank your god for you,
And the connection between us, strong as the fibers of the river reeds, 
We'll never give up for the sake of the children.

​On visiting the doctor.

The presence of you makes me whole 
As you stroke your clay skin,
Your profile like an earth mother's.
Your daughter with the long limbs that stretch across a desert
Calls to you from the outside in words I do not understand,
Yet in a tongue that all of us know and find solace in,
Like the reassurances of the ivory-skinned mother to her two chalk-haired girls
That this bench will do fine, the top bench is too warm,
Yes, too warm dear ones,
Do you think so mother? Oh yes I do, dear one, I do.

A young boy scans the landscape of female forms,
Of grandmothers, mothers and sisters who remind him
Of something ancient beyond living memory that has no explanation.

Shapes, forms, tones, sounds, moving, waiting, whispering
As the steam rises and our healing brings balance to the universe
In this space from which we are all born.

Since the 13th century the sauna in Scandinavia has been a sacrosanct place where the peace may not be broken.

I saw you through the tall trees like old men, leaves fallen, towering with their years. You were a diminutive figure with a tiny frightened dog that seemed to hide from me, running from tree to tree, like  a child hiding behind its parent's sturdy legs.

For so many years we had passed one another in this way. You with your speechless companion, I with mine. We were strangers whose nods to one another had become old friends. On some days when our ear phones occupied us we denied those friends a meeting, because we were wrapped in our music or in the news. On those days I felt the lost opportunity for the blessings of a simple greeting.

We thought things of one another, pictures of one another's lives off the trodden park path; rooms that we filled with our own imaginings. Mine were always of a place that was mild and tempered, where a frightened dog felt at home. 

One day you rushed toward me. I had been away for some time, and had longed for the bracing mornings in the park, where the mist on the lake rose reluctantly and the deer were like statues, hoping to go unnoticed.

Where had I been? you asked. You had gained an insight into some of the rooms of my life through my writings. You were concerned and embraced me. "I am fine," I replied, feeling the crows feet forming a smile. You seemed genuinely relieved.

Amid the barren trees our nods greet one another once again. Your dog hides, my dog sniffs. All is well, as this year, when I am grateful for this delicate thing we have fostered and kept alive together, draws to a close.

In celebration of the civility that ordinary people show one another every day.