Resources

I have resources in leaf and wind,
in the cascading cry of hawks,
who glide wide circles in a clouded sky.
Even the slanting light on my horse’s ear
as he crops swept grasses, moves me,
perfectly, to a different place.

A place where, eventually,
the static in my head does cease.
Where the answer to this dilemma,
not sought only for this brief peace,
sends a shoot down to root
somewhere fertile.

Oh, the storm, especially!
festering and exaggerated,
careening as if down some hollow alley, before
imploding and then receding
from the dripping, torn world,
brings relief, and a perspective.

Informed, not by concern or worry,
not by weighing under furrowed brow,
the pros and cons, the
shoulds and don’ts,
the right or wrong…

But by the weight of any one or more
of these— offerings:
carried in my belly like a nourishing meal,
drawn in like a breath,
transforming and ineffable.

The sun ahead in the parting trees,
on woods paths followed as a child…The nap,
until-wakened-by-crows, under pines…Or
the caught-frog’s eye:
blinking, reflecting my own face
before pasture and sky.

Beloved-familiar, so enchanting!
I pray that my sons tap your resources,
sacred nearby, hopefully hidden in blood.
I pray that, though city-born and inundated,
they know the way to go to find these
ripe and vibrating gifts!

... by Barrie Smeeth (2008)