The Long, Endless Becoming

I always assumed that in the endless metaphor of the cocoon
I would be the butterfly, and the chrysalis the pain of life

But what emerged this bright burning morning, after the black ravens deposited their laments and mourning
on the grass
And the geese told us that all must keep moving forward and, whatever come to pass,
All would be well
Was a bright new image that I could only call God
Taking wings as it did on the orange flood of day,
After a long waiting, as in a tomb 

I did not know which stood first to greet me, as they all rose at once to meet me
The sun 
The fearless aspen
The humble stand of wild flower
The hummingbird so sure and certain

But through me, like a quail taking flight, though the stalks of my heart,
A great surprise of tears found me 
Overwhelming me and, like dog casting off water, shook some unnamed sorrow from my mind
As if everything—the morning and my body, too—had been carrying such heavy news and, longing to be free
Found a path upon which to bloom 

God, I say
Because that is what God is
The healing morning that shakes darkness like crumbs from a tired picnic blanket
God the long, endless becoming
The day that always blooms
The butterfly reminding
That all things are made new