Listen to your life

no not the permission to shape the clay, move

with fire, slow box step, blooming

inch over the spin of whistling air.

And not as premonition, engine whir of where

you’ve stalled, made mistakes

that rattle like dice on your tongue.

What I mean to say is, yes,

you can still change course.

There is time to plunge your hands

into the living ache, shadowed silt

wanting the music

that brims

in your tears.

Look for the flare, the arrow, what sounds

like water, stirs like grass

beneath your leaden feet.

And know that what is done

is done, light keeps mulish

hours, the path

remains the path.

But listen still,

draw closer, swim

the quiet that breathes

this is your life,

stainless mystery, holy

instant. Enter

the hidden heart.