Thursday, December 20, 2012's my hand, a ghazal for the year's turn

sometimes watch your thoughts: leaves floating by on a stream

other times, hunt your thoughts down, be a predator

the witness knows which thoughts pass, which to devour

in winter earth’s summer colors fly into sky

a fleet sunset blooming, light cultivating cloud

gold, purple, red—our color-hungry eyes are fed

young moon brighter and brighter in deepening dusk

the slim curve brimming with night, someone bear witness:

three small birds swoop down to drink the moon’s reflection 

a dust mote in god’s light, call it a galaxy,

a universe, call it me, how else would god see?

whirl on tiny one, small world, trust immensity  

silent as sunlight, in this timeless way I move

whose hands hold the strings that pull the tides, rock my bones?

my feet are wind in the grass, watch me disappear

beloved friends, the world ends again and again

with each death, each year, each turn of an ancient wheel

beginning takes fierce courage, wild faith, here’s my hand.