How tenuous is this good-enough-ness
How easily it trembles and shatters
with shifting voices
and the wavering play of shadow and light
over your days.
You are held in thrall
(a deer in the headlight?)
by the not-yet-achieved unachievable,
the unknown experience-not-yet-known,
waiting restlessly for the
slow filter of time.
In thrall, your movement interrupted.
a blink, a shudder –
the courage to begin again,
to move (as if by instinct)
along the fluid lines of love and calling,
the rhythmic patterns of inner grace.
This self, held in my sanctity,
is goodenough now –
and long after the shadows dissipate
and voices fade.
speak these words of redemption
which mark the path.
[In response to Mary Oliver’s poem ‘Wild Geese’]