Rabbit-Foot Clover

Many years I didn't notice you

growing chiefly in neglected city spots:

sidewalk cracks, patches of overgrown grass,

near derelict buildings. Common as dandelion,

equally overlooked. It took a slow, contemplative walk

for you to get my attention, fuzzy spot of cheer.

I fell in love, took you home, enjoyed you more than

the showiest bloom.

To find you each spring delights me,

your persistence, willingness to grow anywhere,

especially inhospitable places. You possess

strength and beauty of wildness.

I want to be like you.

Forest Silence

The silence of forest isn’t

absence of sound. Rather the sound

belongs. Wind rustling leaves, a

woodpecker’s thrumming, chorus

of tree frogs or crickets, bird song.

 

Nothing out of place.

I breathe.

My feet crunch leaves lightly.

I try to belong, let myself be wild.

Deep Questions

Here it is,

Eight thousand years later, and I still remember.

                                                          From “Looking at the Stars,” by Robert Bly

 

How much is stored in the memory of our bodies?

I wonder what I’ve carried for thousands of years, unconsciously,

events of ancient times that have shaped who I am.

When I look at the full moon, or watch the sun rise

what is triggered in my being,

how many sunrises are stored within?

 

What wildness lies deep in my DNA, at the core of my identity?

When I walk through the forest am I bridging

gaps in my soul, traveling neural pathways

ancient as earth itself?

What, finally, will I know of myself

when I come to the end of knowing?