Paired or unpaired, all in the world
yet moves forward—
A smudge of ash falls through the still air, fragile as a snowflake; nuns’
shoes of molded blue rest by the temple doorstep, inscribed
with names and messages.
Together, hundreds of fish that have perished in the rivers;
thousands of red-winged birds tumbling out of the sky.
Today, only the sun smolders on the ridgetop
between columns of oaks.
Even this not-speaking is speaking to me.
Nothing to do but steel the heart again for the crossing;
wait for the fog to clear.
—Luisa A. Igloria
In response to today’s Morning Porch entry.