1. Part I

From the recording Branches


Morning cracks open and light spills out
Whether red sky or gray
Or gold-gilded white
Whether we are hand in hand, or otherwise
When it hits us the first time
It is that same light that beckoned us
Out of that salty liquid dark
All that time ago
Before memory
Towards which we flew and fell
To which we prayed
Before we built our own small moons
In the quietest place it is still humming
In the quietest place it is like the pull of the tides
We breath in sunlight
And exhale miracles
That which will outlast me
As it touches my face so may it touch yours
If I send all of my love there
If my heart, too, cracks open
Will you feel it