The risk is the mind's leap
into silence and
uncertainty, to put on shoes
and step
into love, to hope, with the
birdsong, the pale green, and the
light of a new day
that you can
and that your day will move you forward
a step more.

The risk is to hold
fast to the chair when your heart
to tip you into blackness and the
downward spin.

It is the hope
that in walking and talking and doing
the stars, the pinpoint lights,
will appear in another's eyes
and you know you have lit
an unseen fire.

As the day greys and falls like
dust on the slates, the breath
holds us as the mind roams
the roads and risks
the same again

loss and parting, connection and
hands, the full soul, the empty
chasm - counterpoint of
out and in, the circle turning
and the axis holding it in place -

rooted by nurture, love staring
from your eyes, another
time another
place rises and sets in me:
	the full tide
	the ebbing sun
I hold the pools of light and water

in my hands - sustenance
I can never regain
but only hold the full,
heavy liquid, shining,
in the place where it matters
and brim with it

as I leave my door
in the morning.
Demeter's Fields
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