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I drove to the monastery far out of town,
down thirteen miles of dirt road,
where I gave the two-fingered wave
particular to roads such as this
to the few cars I passed
going the other way.
I went straight to the seat
someone built into a cottonwood,
and there I saw the sun on the river
shivering like stars at night.
I came here hoping to run into you,
though I know I carry you with me
and you make your home everywhere.
I woke up this morning
a moment after my fear.
I come here when I am desperate, as you know.
All the way, again and again, I imagined
bringing my friend to this place
so that I may have a witness in my praying.
And, again and again, I return:
I return to you
the way the mind returns, again and again,
in meditation.
It is so quiet that I can hear
the ice on the edge of the river melting-
I was sure it was the sound of wings
or an aimless cow in the water.
Though the earth goes about its business
all around me
I cannot follow suit;
there is deceit in my heart every minute
and on its heels, always, the brief mercy
of return.
I feel your breath whispering in my ear-
I can't understand the words
for the static I bring to the moment.
This is what it means
to be at home in the world,
this dissatisfaction,
this longing for you.

Such a beautiful place to sit as well as to pray, Abby.

This verse is so gently graphic and totally lovely:

It is so quiet that I can hear
the ice on the edge of the river melting-
I was sure it was the sound of wings
or an aimless cow in the water.
Though the earth goes about its business
all around me

I love it and enjoyed your poem very much.
Gorgeous, majestic scenery.
And about that two-fingered wave...

I love when you post something new here Abby.

This is such a beautiful image!

It's beautiful Abby.

It took me back in memory to the sweet and quiet joy to be found when one is alone with a landscape, forest or beach.

You found it.

very inspiring

What a bunch of pals you three are

I don't expect anyone to respond to this- it's for the record, really. I tend to work on things forever before sharing them but this time I shared what I wrote the same day I wrote it. Now, a few drafts later:

I woke up this morning a moment after my fear
and drove to the monastery far out of town,
down thirteen miles of dirt road where I gave
the two-fingered wave particular to roads such as this
to the few cars going the other direction.

I went straight to the seat someone built into a cottonwood,
and there I saw the sun on the river shivering like the stars at night.
I came out here hoping to run into you
though I know I carry you with me
and you make your home everywhere.

All day, again and again, I imagined
bringing my friend to this place
so that I may have a witness in my praying.

It is so quiet I can hear the ice on the edge of the river melting-
I was sure it was the sound of wings
or an aimless cow in the water.

Though the earth goes about its business all around me
I cannot follow suit;
there is deceit in my heart every minute,
and on its heels, always, the brief mercy of return.

I can feel your breath whispering in my ear
but I can't make out the words
for the static I bring to the moment.
This is what it means to be at home in the world,
this dissatisfaction, this longing for you.

Abby what a beautiful poem. I recognise that place!

You changed 'imagined' to 'imaged'. If it's not a typo, I like that - the idea of making pictures (internal and also photos), as well as words for the lost love, or god.

Thank you, Diane... it was a typo, and it totally pains me.

I love that other people know the place, but not too many : )

I love this, abby!

Again... Beautiful, Abby.

I read this last week. It brought back memories that shouldn't be memories.
I went kayaking yeasterday on an out of the way creek. I thanked God that I am alive.

Thank you for the reminder Abby.
Thank you!

beautiful

This tree is my true home. Spring's here.

Ohhh yes, s/he looks very welcoming with that soft green of new leaves.
It looks like you would feel like you were sitting in the tree not just with the tree.

These are two photos I took yesterday of my true home in the summer. The second is the view from the seat in the cottonwood.