-------Held and
Home Again-------
We are held in place by the ever-moving, and
called to live by the promise of death.
There are prophets here who do not shout doctrine
nor look to the sky to answer their disease.
But who, when the willows start toward yellow,
with Spring anticipate the scythe.
We are held
by what we hold in our hands.
Our ethics born not of convention
but of duty,
to love in the old ways,
what has called to flower.
From seed to straw and home again
by the prayer of a steady swing.
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