Thin Air

Haleakala, Maui

You follow the earth’s waves, accessing the land deeply

Ten thousand feet, the elevation of two Denver’s
you breathe, walk steady, one foot in front of the other

you are patient and rest often in the thin air, for
you are in the company of a summit otherworldly

Drawn to the next event exploring cane fields and beach towns, a simple flower calls you in, elegant, persuasive to the eye and you think, how does life begin?

you don’t know it’s name or species and you feel no urge to categorize, for
now you intimately know the color of a cardinal or a rose

Twisted barbed wire calls your attention, as it always does
like churches and cemeteries and antiquated worn-out things

it speaks of oppression and poverty, and “keep out” and it sticks
to your clothes like thoughts in your mind and
you must pull loose those hang-on thoughts delicately

untangle the fabric, to be set free

You are on an island, surrounded by living waters
a gift in its vastness where turtle and sea urchin and whale collide

where tiny crabs scuttle over black lava rock where

dreamy-eyed children splash in tide pools and

again, you ask yourself, is this where life began?

You continue down the beach, and watch the unfurling
you apply no effort as the world continues to roll in at your feet

There is no ground, there is only the unfurling, moment after moment

You see a dog, and a man. You know there is a story peering out
behind the dog’s eyes, a complicated craggy story perhaps of a master
trying to walk upright, a damaged friend by his side, and you wonder…

does he feel the way the wind whirls about…is his heart broken today?

did he find a burrito and cup of coffee for breakfast?

You walk on, this is all you can do…and wonder what lies behind and beyond the next open window, how deep the marrow?

Whose fingerprints?  Whose underwater voices?