Green

Green wooden shutters open,

falling into the morning, I wake,

raining dull light, the clouds are dreams

caught on mountains; such green.

You’ve already left for work

I trail my fingers in the crumbs

of your almond pastry, smile

at the coffee pot on the stove;

I hear only Lorca

Verde que te quiero verde.*

In this noticing, such healing,

I am sky and land. Strange

intimate space to be silent –

to be absent from my own shadow,

this is what I yearn for.

Such courage to enter

into the heart of green, to leave

my known self behind, reveals

freedom to be:

the rain, the swaying

cherry tree, the storm that will pass,

the wind that pushes against

the green shutters.

I am without my senses:

the soul needs no interpreter,

only the hopeful state of light

calling to light.

* Romance Sonámbulo by Federico García-Lorca