poem

Shattered fragments of a whole
Smashing up against the shoreline

Spring births from
her winter-white hibernation
Where do we slumber, too
Lost in thoughts of everything but now

Coaxed out of hiding by the fierce
ever-shifting winds
Ferry boat sails in the open channel
amid the fragments
of your dreams

Climb aboard
Carefully holding a bouquet
of ice shards
As your fingers drip puddles on the
grey and cracked sidewalk below

You lick your rosy-red
wind-chapped lips
Wrapping frosted fingers
around a still steaming mug

Sip deeply from the heart

Awaken to possibility
You are the one
And the many
Called by 108 names

Rare is the roar that echoes
Filling the canyon with sound
Leaving the towering naked walls shiny

As rough worn surfaces
Steaked by the elements of eons
call back—remember

Remember
You are as old as I
And as young as this spark of a moment

Hear the sound
Float in the sound
Be the sound

As the world shatters
Only for the puzzle pieces 
To assemble in a new configuration

Nothing is lost
No thing lost

Wrapped in a blanket
of pure white snow
Illuminated under
the brilliant blue sky

Turn inward
As the roar echoes off the womb of
the canyon walls

Depositing you in possibility

Climb Aboard

Reassemblage Point