Wings Of Light

Waiting in the garden
By reflecting pools of quiet grace
Below the  waterfall
Of endless mercy,
Among  fronds of ferns,
Waiting
For little orbs of light,
Some have seen,
Flitting flower to bush
In an electric puff
Of cool reflecting fire,
Branch to grassy glade
On such  small scale.
When they rest,
I admire their wings
And tiny human-like bodies.
They look at me
From the distance
of ten thousand years.
"Where do you live?"
I think,
"Where are you from,
what is your name
in the Bible?
Are you cautious of me
as I am of you?"
We are creatures of the same
glorious God of all Light.
We bear His signature.
Lord, of all your mysterious creation,
 let me worship no creature,
none but you.

Walking In The Sky

Walking around in the blue sky.
I've seen you and your friends,
Scarves and hats with tassels
Gowns and long coats
Streaming in the wind
Hair flying,
Strolling in the clear sky
Hand in hand,
Or on an arm
Leaning into the gusts.

Fast growing cancer diagnosed,
Walls closing in,
Stone upon stone
Colors intensely shine.
All this is new.
May I walk out with you in the sky?

The Supplicant

Businesses have come and gone
along the road from Skidigate to Tlell,
or fallen to gross disrepair and negligence,
but ocean tide still swells and receeds.

Along this coast highway,
sea wind blows and sun shines
as ever it has,
waves glinting or tumbling ashore.

The Haida Gwaii are still
radiant islands,
I am still called to pilgrimage,
 to attempt a memorial to the beautiful.

I raise my tent now,
in this moment,
a supplicant in your presence,
a mercy monger
in your mossy forest,
sitka spruce,
cedar and hemlock.

Sitting By The Sea

Sitting By The Sea

Still the thirst,
Still the sound of fire,
furious in steel prison sweatshops,
mechanically labouring on rubber tires,
making the asphalt busy behind us.

Still the silent twinkle
over the grey sea
of gulls wings against
distant storm blackened clouds.

There is a fresh wind blowing
Memories with odour of iodine,
rotting kelp,
gull shattered shell fish,
rotting
on the receding tide.

The horizon calls,
It always calls,
Pause in silence,
The past is singing
Children carefree playing
On a beach.

Boats are running for harbour,
The weather is changing,
Rising wind has grounded the gulls.

Still the wind roaring in my ears,
Waves  dancing
With scarves of white lace.

Everyone runs for shelter
When they stream by, tearing sails,
Dancing with flying shawls
Of white lace,
Bare masted yachts,
Dancing,
Breasting waves.