Pentecost

 

Who knows what fills 

a sparrow's heart

just before dawn?

Who knows why a smile alights

on your lips with wings 

of faith and uncertainty?

Who knows why this tear,

condensed from distances

between the nameless stars,

suddenly blurs the green earth

with gratitude?

Don't tell. 

Use music.

Each of us must learn

from the ringing of broken things
in our own chest

that happiness has nothing to do

with being sure.

Feathered air descends to your belly 

from the soft spot on your crown.

Your own exhalation, 

the silent tongue of fire.

No path led you here

to this impermanence of moth

and wild anemone, the mountain

aster and Indian paint bush

seeded by a mighty breeze beside 

the meandering snow-melt stream

to linger but a day.

There is no death in this meadow.

A radiance in your chest contains me.

A radiance in my chest contains you.

A circle with so many centers even

Christ gets dizzy.

His work is bewilderment.

A dance of scarlet poppies

that conquers the mind of

warrior and artist alike

with intrepid softness.

Don’t tell. Use music.

The Lord of the sparrow's breast

is listening. 

When she sings, you must sing too:

"I Love, therefore I Am."
________________________

Listen to this poem on SoundCloud HERE.
Photo of Song Sparrow by Loren Chipman.