(From Psalm 131)

Lord, my heart is not haughty:

Of course, I had the advantage of birth: born in Springside,
voted least haughty hamlet in Saskatchewan.

Nor my eyes lofty:

One pretty much follows the other: farming town, curling rink,
proud of our blizzards, which kept us from taking the Yellowhead
to Yorkton — massive, unpredictable city.

Neither do I exercise myself in great matters:

Except one day I packed a bologna sandwich and rode my horse, Chummy,
hard, all the way to my cousin’s farm by the Whitesand River dam.
Later, Chummy, dying of colic, my uncle in mercy put him away,
leaving me stung and hollow, a puddle of regret, my adolescent presumption
causing the death of something I loved, something that large.

Or in things too high for me:

Like this ghost-pale moon,
weeping light over gopher-pocked pastures,
bringing cool June drizzle, brooding sloughs, and pain
that strains theodicy, and no arithmetic that joy will come in the morning.

Surely I have behaved and quieted myself:

I’m quiet, but it’s false to say it was of my own agency,
as truthfully, it’s growing old that’s quieted me,
it’s loss that’s taught me,
surrender to the Mystery.

As a child that is weaned of its mother:

From provinces away, my mother watched, heard news,
and loved me still — down all these galloping years,
she was always just across the room.

My soul is even as a weaned child:

Rogue child steps out the front door into the giant blue.
Seasons of sidereal dreams, mottled mist, leveling winds,
and the leavening light of a thousand sundowns: his habit now,
to bend a creaking knee, bow a greying head,
wipe his dimming eyes and trust the night.

 

don’t you understand
when I made you      I loved you

and I made more of everything you could need
out my love for you       I gave you a bed of earth       a blanket of sky

a young sun       infinite green       a living kaleidoscope of creatures
and time to enjoy       more time than you knew what to do with

and minds for the journey       set in motion       aimed at adulthood

that was the beginning
and I thought my love was teaching you to offer your love to one another

your souls       I thought       would be resplendent by now
immense
as to contain oceans

but you wanted more
and then you wanted the only thing I couldn’t give you
to replace me

now look what you have done
you have turned my love to pity

your puffed-up empires       are burning
your storms of reversal        are building
the undoing of creation

and you can’t stop
blaming each other       fighting each other       killing
each other

back and forth you go       trapped in a mirror

and still unseeing what you are
brothers       sisters       siblings all

yet even now       in the deepening shadows of your self-love and self-hate
here on the brink of your self-annihilation

stay your hand       look about       and I will give you a dream
of goodwill       of peace on earth       and forgiveness

of a kind       that brings the dawning of self-understanding
the blessing of a renewed mind       the intelligence of a broken heart