Thanksgiving

Along the river clear and blue
past that old cabin in the sun,
great pines rising from the shore,
I touch the birches with old eyes
and know from somewhere
far away
I’ve seen these woods,
I’ve been this way a
thousand times before.
Somewhere in the mists of now
that blue jay once was me,
a flash of colour from a dream,
light leaping from creation’s door,
these currents in the air and sky
sing through my blood and me.
I see my neighbors east and west,
old friends to north to south,
we seem to meet at every turn
then mysteriously turn away.
I reach a place where apples fall
and acorns gleam and winds
grow still in autumn leaves.
I sense old souls I used to be
and paths where they turned off.
There is no union in these realms
- there does not have to be.
I suck old life from ancient bones
and it comes back to me.

© 2010