In My Mother's Mansion


The forest is a mighty house
These mud ruts through the meadow
make a starry hallway

                                    I stand
in the doorway with my pack on

Till we are grandfathers
every step of the earth is a return,
a prayer to gravity, a measure
of how far we have come

In my Mother's mansion
there are many rooms
among the rhododendron thickets
Moss and leafmold, tumbling streams,
long patience of the stones

I had forgotten silence!

Consensus of all the campfires
burning for lightyears
around this mountain clearing,
consensus of all the mountaintops
but ours

Nothing is more beautiful
than the sister dancing like the fire,
all dressed up in nothing at all
(But just to make sure I check out
the brother drumming next to her
and yes, he is just as beautiful—)

We're just a part of the ground
that can't help moving, dust
falling from the cosmos into form
and volition

Blueberries for breakfast
with the fiddle singing
while a baby screams its hymn to the Mother—
(Everything is different
where a baby is, all dressed up
in nothing at all)

Till we are grandmothers
every breath is a feather
lifted into flight, a prayer
to possibility and the moment’s reply

The world begins to slow
and settle, the road momentum wears off
Little by little I begin
to arrive here

I had forgotten silence!