Three Poems

Three Poems

wild roses on the prairie

The wild roses grow

along the path I walk forever.

 

 

 

The Bittern at the pond

wrote me a letter.

It said, “Look!”

Saying Grace

It will not end when you die.

In the Cathedral the trees will still grow

and the mushrooms appear.

The cat will still sleep in the sunny window

and the unnamed insect will continue to crawl in and out.

The rose beside the alter will still have thorns and perfumed petals.

And when it all burns away,

a new cosmos will appear in the heavens,

complete and lively. And you will be somewhere in it too.

In the deep and fertile dark, a seed of light.

 

 

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