the rushes

in the silence of snow and conifers
in the conversation of trees
i take refuge

and recognize that refuge is not
escape

but living

in the shiny boxes
of conversation, merry christmas,
get it done, formal shoes,
i feel dark thoughts descend
and yet, i can no longer call them dark
for they are not the velvety darkness
of trees in winter

they are darkness as seen uniformly
through a square window in a room
filled with electric light and voices

the darkness of separation from night
from emptiness, from silence

the darkness that is feared by electric
people, by people who can't slow down

the rushes
the steps i take to prove myself professional,
human, active, responsible, conversational

the rushes
creaking in moonlight, brushing and sighing
in the solstice wind

my hope for salvation, for refuge
for life

- for heather