Miracle

​Yielded from deep quiet,
and fertile forest of my heart:
a gladness.

Like a pale blossom appearing suddenly in the night.
Or a flash of hummingbirds,
ruby, emerald, magenta,
shimmering through pines.

An unexpected ecstasy quickens
then softens me,
leaving me fuller with sweetness.

I don't know what commands the particles
of light, of music, of heat, or pressure,
but there's a way my being is learning
to take That Hand

and be carried
while carrying

to be moved 
while moving

and held
while holding.

A stillness lifts my life,
until I wonder at the silk of the wings,
fine, freshly unfolded at my back.

I know all humans were meant for this.
I know the codes inside me have held this blueprint
since the first cells gelled in my mother's womb,
or even, some might argue, since before.

Yet I am stunned by the miracle.

Dumbfounded with joy.

To be this much more free, in the midst of life,
to be wide inside,
as the river of my days pours through
with ease
amidst foam and froth, 
teeming with fish, otter, heron, osprey,
children laughing in gurgles of mud,
silt, algae, eons of pebbles, 
even boulders, fallen trees,
but clean.
Clean, serene, unstoppable,
necking my way forward
toward the Ocean,
whose salt
I smell here, now,
in the sweat of my hands
as they build, and work, and play.

All I can say is:
Listen carefully for the silent bell,
until one day you hear it ringing in the house where you live,
and the people on your street turn their heads towards it.
​
Listen, and open your mouth, sounding.