Spring

I search Zillow for a house or apartment.

Each day, I buzz through the ads.

I must move out of my new home.

 

But in my morning practice

I melt into the ocean

float on gentle waves.

 

Back on land my mind becomes certain again.

After living alone for so many years,

I can’t live with another.

 

Summer

I need more space

more expansiveness.

Instead I feel trapped in a shoebox.

 

And so, as I walk through each day,

attempt centeredness with every encounter,

Zillow still calls to me.

 

Autumn

Through brief moments of calm,

I sit awkwardly in this house

while moth-eaten memories close in.

 

Still tender as open wounds

they light up before me

each melting in a pool of tears.

 

Then one day, understanding dawns:

the expansiveness I seek

resides in me.

 

I spread my possessions about this house,

take up space beyond my little room

an Acoma bowl here, a watercolor there.

 

Winter

I awaken to a golden sunrise

content to open the curtains

and be just where I am.

 

The meadow spreads golden before me,

and beyond, tower blue mountains,

this whole dream a gift from You.

 

As Zillow fades into the mist,

I ready myself for a new cycle.

My pulse quickens in anticipation of

yet more Love.

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