By Appointment

A windsong makes an invitation,

so the grasses may cry.


Landscape closer to Winter

yet green leaves push through soft Earth.

My father does not appear in these fresh shoots

or within the red bird that has been following me.


He’s not here.


Gracious man I called papa is in the lessons and emotions

held within the scenery of living.


He is the awe that my grief can be so almighty

and still the pinecone can ask to be named.


There was no expectation to find dad on the trail.

I hadn’t realized I was looking.


Within sight are tiny white flowers

Yellow, and purple blooms.

Unfurling ferns and scents that change

with more or less warmth from the sun.


It is 9,000 feet closer to the sky from the Earth

surrounded by Pine, Fir, and Aspen

that my lungs find the support they need to miss the one I am still learning is absent.


Full embodied missing is my spirit practice.

How to allow everything to be enough?


Simple request made more possible by listening

to daylight upon skin, and seeing one’s heart in all things.


This search is not because I am lost.


I look because it feels holy.

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