Sky

I like you with nothing. Are you
what I was? What I will be?
I look out there by the hour,
so clear, so sure. I could
smile, or frown – still nothing.

Be my father, be my mother,
great sleep of blue; reach
far within me; open doors,
find whatever is hiding; invite it
for many clear days in the sun.

When I turn away I know
you are there. We won’t forget
each other: every look is a promise.
Others can’t tell what you say
when it’s the blue voice, when
you come to the window and look for me.

Your word arches over
the roof all day. I know it
within my bowed head, where
the other sky listens.
You will bring me
everything when the time comes.

~~ William Stafford ~~

Ask Me

Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference

their strongest love or hate has made.

I will listen to what you say.

You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.

What the river says, that is what I say.

~~ William Stafford ~~

Cutting Loose

Sometimes from sorrow, for no reason,

you sing. For no reason, you accept

the way of being lost, cutting loose from

all else and electing a world

where you go where you want to.

Arbitrary, sound comes, a reminder

that a steady center is holding

all else. If you listen, that sound

will tell where it is, and you

can slide your way past trouble.

Certain twisted monsters

always bar the path – but that’s when

you get going best, glad to be lost,

learning how real it is

here on the earth, again and again.

~~ William Stafford ~~