EVOLUTION 

Every autumn humanity emerges from the sea--
land mammals again.
Fear rambles through the black of night,
the blazing sun burns our skin,
and gravity, heavy upon rock and ravine,
pares away what we have been.
With less hair, two legs, no tail or fin,
limited freedom and grace,
besieged by greed and haunted by war,
we appear destined to lose the human race.
The tides advance and retreat forever.
Abandoned shells shelter those who remain.
Every autumn humanity emerges from the sea--
witness to the cycles of change.

FAITH  

When thousands of pines die of thirst,
and branches turn to dust,
falling with the slightest breeze,
the forest beats a solemn drum,
the death roll of sap
unable to course
its journey of hundreds of years.
Moles rise to the surface, forsaken.
Fledgling jays plummet from the sky,
too weak to live.
The mountain is a parched wasteland.
It will not rain,
even the rocks grieve.
My breath is reluctant, uneven,
my heart burdened and weary,
but my spirit, fed by an underground river,
refuses to collapse in ruin.
The sole remaining flower seems holy,
the last trickling spring, sacred,
and the wild ones that bravely survive
speak of faith.

THE QUICKENING

The sadness borne within me is breaking.
In its place is a great peace --
more light than shadow,
more love than hurt.
Sometimes simply one perception
changes everything,
for it is poured into your blood
by the sun and pulsing stars.


©  2003, 2004 Myra Dutton

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