The canyon bleeds, then deepens
and darkens ...
A sliver of white moon in the east.
Thin Light spills into the gorge
and the river sings an ancient song.
At the edge of shadow, night:
dark stone, pine scent, water,
cascading Light.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird....
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
Keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished....
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy...