Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser
The blossoms are departing
the white dogwood boughs
as the black vultures
hop, hop the grassy bank,
jockeying for position to take
a bite of the doe
who left her body beside Route 33.
In the midst of it all, a sulfur butterfly
lifts himself into the sun-warmed gusts
on untested wings, saying:
“I had no idea!”
A mystic once told me that we
are all inhabiting different
worlds of simultaneous experience.
I’m pretty sure he was right.
And, I think these inner landscapes
we steward must be rich and varied terrain,
though no less bold and fragile,
no less abundant and endangered,
no less invadable and war torn,
no less sacred and celebrated
than the ground we walk on.
It’s from here, after all, that we source
our way of walking.
I’m getting used to being lost
in these places –
the inner and the outer,
yours and mine.
I’ll readily admit to being mapless.
I have no intention of knowing you completely,
And I’m too great a conundrum to
myself to explain.
I’m convinced this is a good thing:
Mystery is what keeps us longing,
and longing is the power
that calls petals to journey,
vultures to disembark the sky,
and butterflies to risk everything
for a moment of surprise.
How wonderful this dilemma:
We are always in the process of
coming home to each other.
© 2012-2013/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Re-Union: Coming Home to Each Other" (a work in progress)