When I lose my way and forget
how to access earth’s wild music
in this changing world—lose my
song—poets are my nature guides:
Mary’s trees say to “stay awhile.”
Wendell enters “the peace of wild things.”
Gerard finds “nature is never spent.”
Walt and Emily and David
and more find God in the details
or find nature itself enough.
And then begins my journey back from Hell.
Orpheus and Eurydice at once,
I seek confidence, seek sense memories
as companions, and seek stories as songs
till I hear wild life zinging, and can step
away from careless-ness and sorrow.
Invites come from all directions, but to
steady myself, I gravitate toward
bright beings, to songs that demand nothing
but give simply by being alive and strong:
Touch and lean on the sycamore
dressed in white bark and spreading branches,
the birch in slender crowds of gold
reaching to the blue sky in leafy frames.
Feel loose stone under old dry leaf
below, both on a foundation
of slate cliff edge and moist brown earth.
Stand still to watch the chipmunk play,
to listen to birds call, flicker, and rush
the wind. I greet them in my first song.
I stay awhile, until the light in me
grows strong, until peace slows my breath,
until I know again—like falling in love—
that I’m home in creation and renewed
until next time I’ve drifted too far and
begin to drown, begin to gag, think of
quitting, until by chance I pick up the poems
of the messengers singing their promise
to heal (without eliminating pain),
to remind humans of earth's wild music.
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
© 2022 Susan L. Chast