I know that there is Nowhere else for you to go, And when I fail to see you It is because of me. In my fear I forget That from you Nothing can be stolen. In seeking you I cannot seem to find you. In finding you I have only ever found myself. When I cling to you We are lost together. In assuring your protection I have only insured my own isolation. I am just finally Beginning to know The space in between Seeking and Finding. This is a place where I am you You are me And we Are sovereign In all company.
It is after all the fig leaves have fallen And there is nothing left to Cover you That winter's invitation finally arrives. And for the first time You notice The elegant dignity Of gangly branches Reaching for the Sun. Never has their longing been so obvious. It is the obviousness that touches you so. With no soft green to hide behind What more is there to do but to be Still and Reach. For every drop of light Yields another breath. Winter's gift is a Fruitful plague That teaches how to be Chilled to the bone and Still. Grateful. Still grateful When we finally come to recognize The cold inside That is our own And our only Solace. And from this solace All and each Is born. Quick! Don't rush the spring. Or in the premature thaw The brittle parts that have Yet to yield Must lie in wait another year. Lean into the shadows; Trust in their unseen opulence Which can bear the task of holding you. For they are most intimate With the ground beneath, Before, and behind you. Keep your own shadows close And one day you will Thank each other Have a good laugh And be friends. And winter will be your Music Box Beckoning you all For a Dance.
