Let the heart be moved again

    by the green hills,
    grass whistles,
    willow huts
    and pillow forts
    of our childhood:
        our spirits transparent,
        flaring out of our skin
        like beams from dawn.

Let the heart be moved again:
    that first kiss under starlight,
    this shaft of mote-filled light
        bursting through a crack in the tool shed,
    these songs of white-throated sparrows,
        black-capped chickadees
        and that symphony of lazy river,
    this warm rain, these diaphanous faces
        of people in coats on cobble streets
        leaning in under lane lamps,
        arm in arm.

Let the heart be moved again
    at such a time as this:
        these evening years,
        this darkening road,
        these unstinting losses,
        this search for home, that far glory,
        this short steep flight,
        and everlasting fall
        toward the gracing,
        the forgiving,



  1. I so look forward to your posts, and this one really touched my soul. Thank you. I hope you don’t mind but this needs to be shared on Facebook.

  2. I used this poem in a funeral service that I conducted last weekend. The last stanza is particularly appropriate. Several people asked me for the source later. Thanks, Steve!

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