HOLDING ON TO THE LIGHT

I plant my heart in the earth.
I water it with light.
The sweet, green tentacles
of Spring urge toward the light.
They nudge the earth like fat worms wriggling,
loosening light in the darkness.

 

They open the channels and passages
that allow the flow of life.

 

Sweetness follows them.
The sweetness of the new peapod,
the gingko leaf in May,
the sticky buds of the weeping cherry
not yet burst,
the fuzz of the pussy willow
in the pink hour
before dawn,
the small green arrows of the crocus
pushing through a glaze
of bluish snow.

 

. . .

 

Oh, light that nourishes life—
let us be mirrors
of your splendor.
Let us reflect your pure energy—
not dampen it.
Let us be givers of the light.

 

The dull earth turns
on its rusty axis.
The dolorous echoes of the dying
fill the ears of God—

 

who responds by planting
hearts with light,
hearts in the moving earth.

 

Let us learn to imitate
this infinite making of new hearts.

 

Air, water, earth are all we need.
and the miracle of the heart
alive with light.