In this cold and holy light
of morning, even
sparrows dare not speak.
~ Rebekah Choat
I’ve answered many questions, “I don’t know”:
why birds can safely perch on power lines,
what makes the sky blue and the wind to blow,
how rain can fall sometimes while the sun shines;
and many mysteries elude me still:
why some loves last and others fade away,
the intersection of desire and will,
how eyes communicate what words can’t say.
I cannot fathom how the rivers run,
nor what the gull is crying to the sea,
nor where the hours go when they are done,
nor who I am that you should care for me.
The only thing I’m certain of to tell
is: all I am is yours and it is well.
~ Rebekah Choat
Dirty old alley
Pools of water left standing
by a morning rain
Placid reflections
of azure rain-washed skies
above traffic’s noise
Room to fly freely
without thought in the heavens
with clean air to breathe
Open skies mirrored
in pools left in the alley
by a morning rain.
~ Rebekah Choat
At times I hear your voice – unmistakable –
singing in a language I have never learned:
Russian, perhaps, deep and dense,
or starlit Elvish,
or liquid laughing birdsong,
and for one stabbing instant
I know all you are saying.
~ Rebekah Choat