there is a canyon in the upper forest,
stone made smooth
a wet cut wound of becoming.

there
the winter river rages
growls loud January—
this season where snow won’t stay.

the water roars,
not yet brought low,
"spring comes too soon."

listen
beloved,
all that is crafted quiet is also here.
there is a song that moves for my family—
my broken family
made new.

thank you
careful steps on the high trail
above the frothing threat.
the way I would show my children
if here with me.

thank you
the wild I know

hear:
do not be afraid
be simple
surefooted in the trees
breathe
as the ache of song arises.

01/27/24