Together

This is the sacrament of being together

in our shared time.  This is it. This is real.

Nothing extraneous, no barriers.

Nothing craved and nothing missing.

    

      Just water, sky and land

      and how the world lifts birds

      to flight. Just soil and rain reviving

      a parched earthworm and tending

      all the dropped seeds, all the daylight words

      I hold for you right here in my workaday hands,

      no worries or blame to intrude,

    

only the remarkable grace of two beings leaning

into each other like this.  We smile and take

a slow breath, knowing that we recognize

a sacrament when we’re in it.

 

J. Pratt-Walter, © 2024

Then I Woke Up

       Then I woke up, my memory remade,

still slender as the dream of the chickadee

outside the bedroom window.

Then I woke more and wandered

through the garden, the coral azalea

releasing its lurid scent indiscriminately

over the just and the unjust,

the young and me, the unsure elder.

I thrice awoke, reeling to the perfect homily

of Nature and her unbound truths

masquerading as a slow walk around the yard,

her small prophets the mourning doves

and tree frogs, her flowers calling bees

to their mumbling tasks, life aiding life

unceasing.

They preached this to all who would understand

in this time of separation and dread:

even apart, we are all still a dazzling bouquet

just waiting to happen.

J. Pratt-Walter, © 5/10/2020

Mother’s Day

Her small prophet

Letting Go

        My fingers are roping on

to all they can grasp

but the Universe says “Let go.”

My eyes are tying themselves

to things not to be seen

but the Universe says “Let go.”

My heart is fainting with

a planet’s desperation and disease

but the Universe says “Let go.” 

The Universe is squeezing itself

deep into my spirit

and tells me with love

“I am holding you.  We are all in this

together.  You are never

alone, even when letting go.”

J. Pratt-Walter (c) 2020

NaPoWriMo #10

In the Belly of Forever

The unspeakably large

Universe

    wears the imprint of

all the passion

my slight being can hold.

The Bang went, and I,

still unmade,

went along, and there,

in the belly of Forever,

you too.

We are

pinpoints on end,

inconsequential atoms

when alone.

The electrons of these words

are too lazy and soft

to be taken seriously,

but the Universe is dilute

compared to the white Gravity

of my Love.

J. Pratt-Walter

12/31/2014, reworked 11/2017