Belly of the Whale

A whirlpool


These are the end times. All is winding down.
I only have three major projects--two papers and a story,
though I also have a lecture I want to give and a speach as well.
Everything seems to be happening in its own time.
I don't feel pressured inordinately.
Everything I see I see as it were the last and most precious time,
everything has a fresh glimmer and shade.
Widge is happy and smiling everyday - he is fit and healthy,
her looks like a young man again.
Everyone who pets him comments on
his daffodil-like coat, so soft and glossy.

Everyday is prismatic and blue--
too much for my eyes, the light, when I come out from a building
into it all.
I prefer the shade to sit, but relish the depth of the blue, darker toward the horizon.
Glacier lilies, lupine, and tulips-
snow still high in the Rattlesnake, holding to steep slopes.
My grass is healthy and I have tulips by the fence.
I think about how I ever will move all of my stuff out.
How will I get rid of all I don't need?
Will I say goodbye to everyone - and am I satisfied with the relationships
I’ve built and the time I’ve spent?.
There is so much land that is still so far from all I have done here.

Montana is a song bird on my shoulder
And a treasure map in my pocket—
Mysteries to hear and discover
and ultimately love