Now Come to This (Betty Gross)

Weeds, Milam County , TX

Now come to this empty field,
this burned and blackened expanse.
We burn to clear; we slash and burn,
ready for planting.

Seeds of thought are hidden, protected.
Spring is full; summer is near.
And what of this promise,
the empty made full and on and on?

This cycle is dependent on impermanence.
Where is the center,
ever-shifting but no less connected?

We wonder as we wander
and take the backward step
of no expectation.

Cry and mourn,
light and dark,
each with its gravity.

Signifying nothing,
a moment is flow.
We can’t force the waterfall to flow.

Wait for the next click of the clock.
Night follows day.
Spring is not jealous of Winter
or resentful of Summer.

A kernel of longing,
a piece of a picture.
A jigsaw there,
but not for owning.

Kuanski Falls, Cambodia