Golden Gardens, Early

Curl of the beach,

curl of the bay,

straight line of curling waves,

low tide, the luring smell of sea,

the counter-swirl of clouds

We sit in our cove of freedom,

togetherness, this time of morning —

ideas performing like kingfishers,

jokes like crows,

punctuate the smooth spread

of the light we are offered,

the wide expanse of reflection

We could make a life

out of moments like this,

memories of doing free flight,

whole-bodied knowing,

saturation of understanding

washing us to the cusp of communion

Heat rises from the dry sand

as we walk back,

trees stand as keepers

of the temple of deep shade,

bestowing their blessing upon us

as we depart.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 13, 2016

Alone, and Not

In your grief and sorrow

you will be alone,

the touch of others

felt through a caul

When you meet your maker

you will be alone —

the magnitude of that encounter

eclipsing other presence

How you choose your death

is not a thing you’d tell anyone,

even if you knew to do so.

In that narrow passage

you will be alone

In the breaking to awakening

you are not alone,

tumbles of bright choruses

fill you from within

and the reverberation of you

sings its essential harmony

in the reunion of everyone

On the other side

we are not alone anymore.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 11, 2016

Sights and Sounds at the Early Lake

The morning’s gray whisper,

the limpid rays of reflected light

straying across the quiet water,

soft folds against the shore

The puncture of dog bark,

the rip of plane engines,

the glide of gulls and ducks,

scrishing footsteps of walkers,

rising of ripples, a chance of rain.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 10, 2016

How We Heal

Some kinds of mending

take place slowly, small pieces

lost for generations

fitting softly into place,

a silent shifting as the frame solidifies,

a quiet sparkling where

one plane of integrity

has been restored

Some healing happens indirectly,

the steady love unfailingly applied

serving to melt a hardness

hidden in some distant corner,

unknown until the wave of freedom

washes through and something moves

that before was frozen

Some healing appears suddenly

when all the inner matrices

have finally aligned

and the light floods

through the whole being,

through the whole history,

across the whole landscape,

across all time.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 9, 2016

Tumble Love

(a bicycle epiphany)

I carried the heavy baggage

through most of the ride,

considered the balance

of expectations, deliveries,

considered the relative merit

of what we must have thought

were our positions

Considered how to hold the slight —

to be indignant, to be chastened

(while the almost rain, the dull damp,

did nothing to alleviate my state)

I shuffled around those

anxieties, justifications,

all the long words with edges

that poke out, the carrying of which

makes me awkward

Till suddenly I realized

they can all just fall away

in a tumble love that feels

warm and roly about everyone,

that gathers them in like soft puppies,

delighting in my surrender

to their charms.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 8, 2016

Light

I see you through the light,

I see the light through you —

we map our courses thus,

our vision sometimes blocked

and sometimes opening

The light is all we know

and all that we can follow,

as darkness offers nothing,

no way to track a course,

no light to see by

And so we move from light to light

though we may hope for something overarching,

some tunneled, end-lit path,

some vast dawn —

it could be coming

It could be even here,

but we must navigate

through the thickets of our suppositions,

persistent in pursuit

of whatever light we see,

edging, thus, towards free

just like everyone.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 7, 2016

My Watch

I stand an easy guard,

I listen as you loop through memories,

time having lost all traction —

you were president of the molder’s union,

your wife was your typist,

your uncle John in Ireland

was a big hit with all the navy hot shots

These are the safe places,

sunk in the past

where it doesn’t matter

what facts are changed

I watch against the places

where your story

lurches into the present

and you think this is your brother’s house,

think I am his wife —

you think you need to find your home,

you think you need to leave

I wait here with the mission

to head off your concern,

to keep it clear that you are home

and we are family,

and you can spend your days

just as you please,

dozing in and out of dream 

while we hold down the corners of reality.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 6, 2016