Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Going Inland

for Joy McCall

who lives 
on your inner island
she asks—
dipping my silent oars
I glide toward the answer

a sorrel mare
at the water’s edge
drinking deeply
dripping moonlight
we find the inland path

in a hut
fragrant with dried thyme
the old crone
at the hearthstone
feeds a flame with her words

at sunup
the reedy sound 
of piping
from a fold in the hills
where no path leads

the hand of a blind harper,
I follow 
the song of the brook,
the whisper of trees

~Skylark 4:2, Winter 2016


  1. Glad to see you posting again here! What a gorgeous journey to your inner island.

  2. Thanks, Janet! Yes, I'm trying to get back to posting here after a long hiatus--other projects interfered!