Small Specks

The brook is stilled, settled into a deeper spot. I lean in quiet, feeling its past. Here, there are Small specks floating on the surface of the water. I see them turning themselves to the light. I remember the place where I was joined To the water. I feel inside me a turning. I am grateful to have owned this body. So grateful it overflows its boundaries With all the waters I have known. I know this place. I have been here before. I carried it inside me always. I know the dragonfly that poets spoke of, Upon the dripping branches reflected On the water. I have seen the tiniest Of flowers lying loosely in the overflowing Grass beside the stillness of this brook. Once it held me in its spell. In its stillness I was home. I knew it as it knew me. There is a place inside each of us that knows The other as we know ourselves. I saw the butterfly that poets spoke of. It landed on my fingertip, flexing its wings to my beating heart. It knew me as clearly as I knew myself. I have seen the sky The fish, the tree, the grass, and so many lives Of others. I have looked deep into the eyes of My mirror and saw gratitude looking back. For knowing brooks and butterflies, Frogs and sky, and all this blessed life. To become the poet of which I read. To join the luckiest of men and women for whom All prayers have been answered; For I know a place where the brook is still, Settled in a deeper spot, where I can lean in quiet And feel eternity. There is where the small specks float Turning to the light, knowing they are home.