With their last breath
those we love do not say good-bye --
for love is timeless.
Instead, they leave us a solemn promise
that when they are finally at rest
they will continue to be present to us
whenever they are called upon.
Let us fear not, nor grieve beyond letting go
the departure of those we have greatly loved,
for in the Tree of Life their roots and our own
are forever intertwined.
The phoebe sits on her nest
Hour after hour,
Day after day,
Waiting for life to burst out
From under her warmth.
Can I weave a nest of silence,
weave it of listening,
listening, listening,
Layer upon layer?
But one must first become small,
Nothing but a presence,
Attentive as a nesting bird,
Proffering no slightest wish
Toward anything
that might happen or be given,
Only the warm, faithful waiting,
contained in one’s smallness.
Beyond the question,
the silence.
Before the answer,
the silence.