Early morning I hear geese in a fog so blue and dense
I doubt the existence of the world below them.
There are mornings I wake to bells
days when I hear a hundred quail beating together
in a congregation of wings.
This morning I notice how light spreads along the ridge line
falling into the river gorge, breaking down through fir trees
setting fire to bark beetles struggling in white water.
When I forget the sky, there is a loneliness that can strip muscle from the bone
but I don’t know that until later.
Eventually the lion lies down with the lamb.
The orphaned monkey is allowed to suckle from a village woman’s breast.
Forgetting mistakes I have made
I see how two empty hands together make both full.