(Twenty years ago, my husband, Gordon, died on July 5. I wrote this soon after and just found it.)

Strangely, my ex-husband
Tried to prepare me
For Gordon’s death

He is a doctor
My ex
An intensive care specialist
Who knows death well

It probably won't be quiet
He said
It might not be peaceful
He said
Even though he is in a coma
So be prepared 

I should pray
I thought
But I didn't
I should speak our love
I thought
But I didn't

I read aloud
I read The Half Blood Prince
I finished it
Late, late at night
Sitting by my husband's hospital bed

I should watch and pray
I thought
But I fell asleep

I woke at dawn
When the nurse came in

She checked my husband
His breathing
His pressure
His medication drip

I smiled at her
She smiled at me
And left the room

I stroked my husband's hand
I whispered his name
I said good morning
And he died

He took a breath
And then no more
Without agony
But also without trumpets
Without struggle
But also without radiance

And yet, wondrously
Without loss

Because I felt the room
Fill with Presence
Presence and peace 

There You are
I said
Thank You for coming

And so I sat
With Presence
Reluctant to ring
For the nurse

And have Presence
Flee into loss

Invisible but strong
The thread, the root
The skein, the net
Connects all trees
Spruce and pine
Crepe myrtle and mimosa
Tree of heaven and treasured maple

The thread, the root
The skein, the net
Holds us too
As we stumble and stutter
Causing maple to tremble
And pine to sigh

Delicate
White green
Sunlit tendrils
Carolina jasmine
Almost kiss
Drooping
Furry spruce

Small stone
Celtic cross
Shelters 
Under
Plum yew
-	Cephalotaxis harringtonii 
According to Woody
Who rocks gently
In his rustic chair
Next to me
On our half sunken
Back porch

Overhead fan spins
Slow
Water
Gurgles and plinks
Jug to jug
Into the tiny pool
Harboring broken pottery
Ceramic frog
Wire duck
Fat squat plaster bird
Speared ferns
Purple tradescantia
Red hearted coleus
And one small 
But growing
Japanese maple

Red breasted robin
Pauses
On the half collapsed
Bamboo fence
While her chicks wait
Open mouthed
In the nest
In our porch rafters

The small simple
Richness
Of the world
From our back porch
Is too vast, too complex
For one poem

As spring waits
For summer
As bud waits
For blossom
As tadpole waits
For frog
As gravid waits
For birth
As dawn waits
For sun
As dusk waits
For moon
As lover waits
For loved

So in holy hope
I wait

I am a queen
With a crooked crown

over what crooked realm 
do I reign

when sometimes
(too often)
not even my own will
obeys

I walk a crooked path
To my crooked throne

I think a crooked thought
Cry a crooked tear
Laugh a crooked laugh

But my love is straight
And true
Crowning you

I scatter pieces
Of myself
Throughout my day

My trail is littered
With a thought here
A worry there

The drooping branch
Of an unfulfilled promise

The lichen covered log
Of old resentments

Browning leaves
Of once was

Slippery pebbles
Of never was

Wishes dropped here
Daydreams there
Distractions everywhere

Until
In my car
At a red stoplight
I watch an ant
Crawl up the windscreen

Ah, I think
That ant never has to try
To collect again
The scattered pieces
Of itself

But I am human

I lose
And I find

I scatter
And I recollect

I see an ant
And I give thanks

I am light and shadow
I am bird and worm
I am warmth and coldness
I am peace and war
I am beauty and ugliness
I am laughter and tears
I am joy and grief
I am energy and tiredness
I am friend and foe
I am comfort and pain
I am whole and broken
I am giving and withholding 
I am embracing and rejecting
I am forgiving and grudging
I am remembering and forgetting
I am releasing and grasping
I am goodness and evil
I am believer and atheist
I am love and hate
I am unity and division
I am now and yesterday
I am eternal and ephemeral 
I am holy and ordinary
I am connected and separate
I am I and not-I
I am who I am
Wondrously human
Wondrously heavenly
Light and shadow
Completely me
Only with all of me
Can I know
Divine oneness

I recorded a poem last night 
A poem by nature

After a too-bright
Too-hot
Too-sticky
July day

Came the rain poem
Punctuated
With thunder and lightning 

Softening
Cooling
Breathing
God’s grace
For our garden

To see God in others
Is spectacularly easy
As long as I carefully chose
Whom I look at

With some, it is hard NOT
To see God
Woody, Wendy, Norma
So many close friends
My writing group
My meditation group
God is so easy to see

But also

That panhandler on the corner
With the cardboard sign
Impossible to read
That scruffy panhandler
Maybe, according to many friends
A con artist
I see God shining through him

Or is it
Possibly
That I merely see God reflected
In my easy generosity

That tantruming toddler
Embarrassing his mother
In the aisles of the grocery store
I see God in her and in her mother

Or is it 
Possibly
That I merely see God reflected
In my easy compassion

My often complaining mother
Who calls me at 10:00 at night
On her cell phone
To tell me her phone isn’t working
I see God in her

Or is it
Possibly
That I merely see God reflected
In my easy acceptance

But what about my troubled step-daughter
Middle-aged
Still needing her daddy
Desperately
His money, his help, his support

What about the needy young friend
Who lived with us for a year
Whom we supported through
Recovery from the trauma of COVID nursing
Who left angrily the first time
We needed a boundary

I blew it

I yelled at both of them
Ugly hurtful yelling
No generosity
No compassion
No acceptance

No reflection of my own goodness
In which to see God

Help me, please, dear Goddess Mother
To see You in them
In their neediness
And even in me
In my ugliness

Silence is not silence
Until I slip below thought

My thoughts
Are often troubled
Wind whipped waves
That drown
Possible worlds

Beneath the swallowing waves
I sink into the cool quiet depths

I find a rock to cling to
Strange that 
I do not need to breathe
I do not die
Nor do I grow gills
I simply sit
In the dark cool depths
Holding onto the rock
The rock that keeps me still
Keeps me from floating back up 
Into the never ending storm
Hurricane tornado tempest cyclone
Of my thoughts

Thoughts that create and destroy
Faster than I can grasp
Thoughts that drown me
In impossibilities

I cling to my rock
Not as in psalms or hymns
My rock is not God
Because that requires thought
And thought is the world killer

So I sit quietly in the cool depths
While worlds of thoughts whirl overhead
I neither breath nor grow gills
I neither believe nor disbelieve
I neither create nor destroy
I sit in dark stillness
Resting against my rock