Sanctuary

Following a little brook

out of a swamp

I found the round pool,

source of its flow:

a shaded glade, damp grove,

where the deer go to drink

(their glossy, chocolate spoor)

and sleep,

the grass knit-basket packed in earth

by their gentle loving quiet and deep.

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In meditation in sun-dappled shade

without expecting, I received a gift:

I watched a fawn emerge from a cave,

and stand in camouflage of glare

blinking, not seeing me,

for a breathless, fleeting eternity,

weaving of light and shadow,

moment new-born!

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We heard a little bleat like a lamb, and saw in forest’s velvet dark

a wet moose, newborn, wobbling on gangling legs,

its eyes deep, well-springs, new-sprung from the Source of All.

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He said he found a whale-bone on my mountain!

I let him lead me to a shady hollow

where green bones crumbled where they’d fallen:

huge antlered moose by predators untorn,

jig-saw skeleton intact,

half hidden in earth, in silence undisturbed.

He asked if he could take a bone away across the sea.

I put my finger to my lips and nodded: no.

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Resting from hiking by this shade-dark stream

my eyes adjust to see the sun-lit top of a tree

where throngs of orange butterflies gleam

resting in migration,

cutting a bright gash of awe,

imprinting flash,

in the green flesh of everyday

only to fly away leaving me raw

with joy’s suspended breath!

© Tamara Rasmussen 201We