The Wish

Too often I hear a whisper

deep within,

I wish.

I stop before the hush of words

finds release upon a willing tongue.

What can I wish for when the rain,

just beginning, finds my nose

among all others?

How can I long for more

when the cedar bough sky

dances above

and the air,

a quiet song of love,

embraces my heart and the earth,

beneath my feet,

offers rest from weary travels?

Are not the waters that sweep the shores enough nor

the peace of a quiet tree before the sun arises?

What other place but where I stand, tempers my soul

with the grace of the squirrel

who knows no longing?

I wish, I wish

to be …

Here.

Only here.




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