To Time
It was You, wasn’t it, on the mountain
when the wind stopped,
and my soul welled into the quiet
to roll with the peaks through the clouds?
When in the forest, I felt the earth
in my roots and the wind in my leaves?
You the tenderness in me for the finch
who no longer alights from the eave when I pass.
If all that exists matters, how does the river
carry on with calm assurance
when most days the smallness
of my understanding is my best hope?
I feel You unfold sometimes
like a purple flower after a rainstorm
as the pines drip spicy gold
into beams of old sunlight.
Then I want to love my way to You
straight through this body
and this sacred ground,
like a river.
To touch petals and plant seeds,
hold hands and scatter ashes.
I don’t need to ask
if You’ll have me.
Does the river ask the ocean
if it’s ok to come home?
Jenna Wysong Filbrun is the author of the poetry collection, Away (Finishing Line Press, 2023). Her poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net and have appeared in publications such as Blue Heron Review, EcoTheo Review, Wild Roof Journal, and others. Find her on Instagram @jwfilbrun or visit her website: https://jennawysongfilbrun.wixsite.com/poetry.
Amethyst Review 