Red Bird

it is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.

I am the leaves and the blossoms, and, like them, I am full of delight, and shaking.

Let the world have its way with you, luminous as it is with mystery and pain — graced as it is with the ordinary.

But there are days I wish there was less in my head to examine, not to speak of the busy heart.

If I was the song that entered your heart then I was the music of your heart, that you wanted and needed, and thus wilderness bloomed there, with all its followers