Sanctuary
The winter solstice has passed
but the longer days are not yet perceptible.
Before the equinox,
when the crocus and wild hyacinth
push toward the warm
and grass blades into green,
this I claim as sanctuary.
Behind, skeletal aspen and oak,
shaded by mid-day overcast,
tower over manzanita and running vine
and reach longingly toward the shore,
only to be thwarted
by gravel and rock laid down
by the last run-off.
Sand and clay guard access
to where I sit as water,
edged in seasonal crystal,
teases at the tips of boots,
where colorless night brings claustrophobic
openness to the shore,
a security that nothing,
unnoticed,
can enter or leave this cloister. |
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