small songs I sing
to join
my voice to other voices
hidden in the grass

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!