Like the red maple leaves

And then she came back to the living
roared or whispered
like the red maple leaves

that lag a little behind the earlier blooms
but hold the light like no other
like the wholeness she feared

missing her whole life
yet always rediscovered
in the least expected places

spring arrived and with it
the angels
worked the night shift

filling her basket as she slept
with blooms and little glass vases
songs she was born knowing

and prayers only her heart
could speak
a question of self showed

itself in the form of nuthatches
and chickadees
hopping and perching, building

nests, going out and going in
like a voice
that burrowed deep

in hiding before emerging
the way the sun emerges
from behind cloud cover

so thick doubt could take over
and believers would keep appearing
at dawn to bring in the day

and doubters would watch the news
round the clock
saying look

there is the evidence
the world is ending as we speak
the world is ending

and beginning
the day is new
but the songs that will carry us

through this time are ancient
desert ocean mountain temples
What was it I said earlier again?

Oh yes, she came back
to life
but really she had never stopped

living
it's just that she got too close
to the sun

and melted a little
sometimes a person needs
to disappear

as if in a myth
of her own making
before returning to form

to the body that holds her
and allows her to breathe into
whatever is to come