When Words Collapse

 When poet Mr. William Stafford incorporeally

came to visit, he noticed that when words

collapse, the dense low trees became

my harbor.



Then he reminded me how miraculous

were the daily workings of plants

as their photosynthesis built ladders

to the sun



and how, in my animal mind,

all lost syllables can again come home

to their true meanings found waiting

among those trees if I would just

look.



J. Pratt-Walter, © 2019

Healing River

this journey is a

mystery but still, I will

bravely take it

I don’t know the

destination     but someday

I will cross that

blessed river of Love

and drink, deep as the sea

my garments are worn out

by my      imperfections

sometimes my cup is     broken

but still I will gather 

talking handfuls

of healing waters

and carry them like a

newborn sparrow

right to you

j. pratt-walter

(c) 2019, Latourelle Falls