Unable to be all things For all people, Perhaps at one time, I tried. Those days are

Driving through the small towns of America, children of all colors playing in the streets, some with tattered clothes

Standing at a crossroad Between this life And the next, Heart in hand I knock on that

What is truth? It’s a changing sky, One day clear, The next, cloudy, Holding the blue and grey,

Today, I wish the pain to go, the fatigue that I fight so. This process of aging is unkind and yet, the law of nature is a fast lane of change.

This evening the blank, white page is open. My nerves are on edge, while a storm forms on the horizon.

My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last

White heron skidding the blue, grey water, of the bay. How free and easy you make it look,

When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.

Perhaps it is the mind separating things into this and that. Perhaps it is the mind with it’s preferences

Old friends walking on the beach, the waves bring in, memories, of carefree days;

When you are not here An empty heart full of fear Arises and wonders If I will see you again. What will I do without

Inhale, the arms float up, Exhale, the arms float down, Namaste, at the heart. Inhale, the body bends, Hands at top of mat,

Lately, a sadness pervades, I mourn for youth, perhaps passion of younger days. With age, some of that passion

Last night I dreamt that I floated above the clouds, above the earth and my heart