I would have
to write a poem for each waking moment
and every one between
to praise creation enough–
but I would miss
butterfly’s flight, bird’s in-breath,
redwood’s shadow–
to look down
at words and paper.

At times its too beautiful
to witness light changing between
blades of grass or to hear tree’s
silent prayer. In weakness
I look away
to a blank page such as this
and calm my ecstatic heart
with words of prayer,
not of longing, but of fullness–

Either tears or words will flow forth
from inspiration and her source. A
thousand poems a moment
could never express…
Listening deeply to each breath–
it’s all I can do