The pond, merely pond,
yet precious,
rests for days and nights and days
as the geese, stretched out
in their ancient longing
find its horizon,
the place their ancestors knew,
and they descend lovingly toward it,
and in their gaze it becomes beautiful.
There is a tiny flower
on a rocky mountainside
that no one ever finds
but the little mountain bees,
and they love it.
A man
was taken from his mother
as an infant.
She has never stopped searching.
Happy or sad—if only he knew,
he is sought.
Sometimes you rest a long time
free of obligations
to allow yourself again to become
beloved.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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