First Mountain

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Step Twelve
the length of the day
is directly proportional to the distance
between you
and the one you love

Step Thirteen
this day is born in the wake of geese flying lance formation
threading the air with calls to come
come home
gather yourselves to me
come home to me

if yearning was a shape
it would be the lance thrown south
if yearning was sound
it would be geese
longing

the acrid smell of trees burning
rubbing their roots together
anxious to be off
wrapping their shawls of sparkling round themselves

they turn and wave
wave great arms
wave the smallest finger
turn gracefully on skeletal legs
and melt
to a hard point
on the pale horizon

Step Fourteen
this day is born of grass
this season of sensual repast
rolling between Earth and cerulean sky
breathing in sparkly dust
the scent of grass
luminescent leaf in shades and shape variances
dazzle, intrigue, reassure me
that even the pointy things in life can be sweet delights

Step Fifteen
there on the ridge, as wind warmed me
grass silked along
where smell of sage took root
I faced the sun
and thought on the wind through me

a promise chaffs only if
you want to abandon it
otherwise it is another set of arms to hold us
our promises shape who we are and what we will become

Step Sixteen
up in the hills
bending to better hear the stones
fill pockets
these for the hand, those for the eye, some for the heart
the wind blows and blows and blows the sky clean again
leaves spiral and twinkle down from the trees

feather floats to Earth
half iridescent blue half black
ah!
Crow knows this
there is no hurry, we are already there

Step Seventeen
so much is revealed
after the leaves fall

Step Eighteen
I walked a long time but I did not see miracles,
unless you count this bag of blood and bones, placing one foot in front of the other and
breathing through the eyes
of Magpie
the wink of her black blue white feathers divides this day

she looks at me
walks over to me
forbids me to dismiss this day

every day is sacred, every day a gift, understand

Step Nineteen
find one joyous thing to salvage this day
triage phone calls from Mom telling me that Dad’s lung collapsed
from friend turned strange
from colleagues turning a blind eye to mischief
from sister leaving her partner, cries as she packs the bubble bath

a deer bounds into the trees just ahead
white tail blinking in the snow

I realise I have been holding my breath
now
I will breathe

Step Twenty
this day
putting my heart next to bark
invokes magic

not complicated upside-down incantations passed hand to hand from backs of nightmares

simple
just
only
Raven
flies across cloudless sky
dips his wing to me
coos
plumbing the distance between us
finding it not too deep

Step Twenty-One
this day is between breaths
not so much held
as hopeful

Step Twenty-Two
when you breathe
think on this
you are
the candle lit
a heart as big as the sun
beating ancient rhythm

Step Twenty-Three
this day is born in the first crocus
courageous outrageous flower
furred to brave snow streaked land
begins purple turns blue to
white
pulsing yellow centre
resuscitates bone-hard heart of winter

good medicine survives

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