(for Bryn)

If only you could remember where
you dropped those coins on the path
that led you here,

you’d scuff your way back through
all manner of leaf duff and detritus
to find the once-gleaming discs,

pick them up, wipe them off
and head into the now. But both
path and markers have vanished

into mystery, and, as they say,
the only way out is through. So
you’re stumbling your way

through, holding hands with
new souls delivered to you for
this part of the journey, all

of you stepping with purpose,
looking up at the blueblue sky,
squinting at the shining daystar

winking through dark branches.
Count on it dutifully rising
every day, always, even when

shrouded in cloud. You’ve
learned that the lightburst
warms and holds

your quivering self,
delivering tangible love
both seen and unseen.

Start walking… then comes
a moment of feeling the wings
you’ve grown, lifting—

into this moment,
and the next and the next
and on and on and on.

Amene.

•••

(The quote, “Start walking…,” is from the Coleman Barks translation
of Rumi’s poem, often titled “Unfold Your Own Myth.“)