a trust born(e) gently

The music of your laughter-

your freedom singing you.

It’s the sister song to the one

you sang at your birth.

Sometimes these sisters swap places

and when they do,

time moves anew,

backward in its spiral of surrender.

The intricate symphony

of your stilled tongue

and the composed threadbare lines

of your rent exhale

herald the appearance

of your knowing underneath it all-

you in the wilderness-

breathing in the out-breath of the trees,

breathing out their in-breath.

Nothing more to be said except

all the movements of your free form body

in a world sculpting its own becoming;

your hammer and chisel laid down,

now bowing to the grace of your

unfettered hands.

This imminent intimate presence

imagines outward from a boundless interior

and receives the shapings of the participatory world

as moldings of a patiently awaiting

mulled essence.

To live in creation is to concede to the laughter of tears

and the weeping of laughter;

to floridly collapse the until-now necessary

built-against muscle that walked for you

and walk with the bones of your original birth.

It’s your creative life that’s creating you,

even now, just as it’s always been.

You’ve always known this, though safety has been

a relentless hero triumphing again and again

over the great unknown.

But your present return has gifted this hero a new

tonic for its parched being-

the wellspring called Rest,

from which all Newness for all time

has been birthed.

Even your patience has laid down its stilted head,

existing now with no shadow of attempt,

dwelling only as pure allowance;

the freight of your momentous life

unhitched from the manufactured engine

of compliance to your unawareness,

now borne onward by its own free breath

wending through the living landscapes

of homeness.