Wind that sucks the sap from your skin
The sky itself is frozen blue
Yet i am safe while i can light one soft candle
My mind can burrow further than the cold can freeze
My eye can dance on the ice even when i dare not open the door.
For the strength of God rests in seeing beauty even as the last leaf is blown away from the trembling tree.
Alabama Thunder Storm
What is my work today?
Sew together peanuts and corn that cling to the palate;
Cup my hands bowl-like to dowse in clean water;
See the first oily leaves of bean sprouts in the garden.
Do they portend a bright future?
I mend my heart by giving to others.
No disaster can ramrod my hand which I stitch to yours.
The storm, by nature, is quick in its fury.
Hope, by nature is weak. The mangrove trees dip their leaves in watery soup.
Storm after storm their roots shoot up and around, ebbing and rising above fragility.
The work is easy even as my feet are covered in mud.
What I give is not haphazard, but a rare epiphyte
Even the blind one knows her work is to notice.
Thank you for the grace and beauty in your poems, softly singing down the leaves wafting and whirling outside my window.