Decades

Decades

At ten I walked my dog

to the far end of the farm

where a white rabbit

was just turning brown.

At twenty I taught in a far

land.  So many new words

I kept trying to learn.

At thirty I graduated

from graduate school,

certified to teach words

on my own.

At forty I wanted my song

to be like the Cañon Wren:

joyful cascades flowing down.  

It would take a long time

to learn what I needed to learn.

At fifty I looked through

snow where a blackbird

sat in the cedar limbs. 

At sixty my life as a teacher

wound down—most of our

children already flown.

I turned seventy in Guatemala.

When the fog lifted, Nita and I

found the Quetzal bird together.

At eighty I revise my life—

new garden, new songs, new

branches cascade over the wall.

                    —Donnell Hunter

                            29 may 2012

Alchemy

Alchemy

We are of the earth, earthy,

“dust to dust,” etc.  Our bodies

wait out the storm until

dust to dust we return.

Five rivers found their way

from Eden.  They are flowing still,

even though Eden has long since

fled from Zion's hill.

When the last comet arrives

too close for comfort, some soul

will take a deep breath:  

“All’s well that ends . . .” etc.

By fire or ice?  “Who cares?”

says Frost, “Either will suffice.”

                    —Donnell Hunter

                            6 June 2012