This small collection of poems is my offering in response and gratitude for one prayer that was simply and clearly answered. Some years ago I intently began a journey to restore some sense of connection, intimacy and genuine participation within my life. Although reason still had voice, judgments and doubts being plentiful, yet I was glad to be on the road - and moving. I began to trust in heart again, and by what I call faith, was willing to take what came next on that path - without knowing what it might be or become. One day, thinking to apply this new willingness to my working life, as well personal, I made a simple prayer - What do I do next? The answer came simply, clearly - and unexpectedly - write. How is this an answer to my prayer about work I doubted. Yet there it was. One word. Write. So I do.

The soil had been made ready not long before that day. Common to many, I'd not often felt at home with most poetry I'd read. Then came an evening when I saw a video conversation between William Stafford and a much admired and admiring friend, fellow writer Robert Bly.  Stafford's manner, his attitude, his voice - more, his unguarded affection in being - so drew me in that I didn't care what his chosen path, poet or carpenter or digger of ditches. I simply wanted more. His was the heart I'd not heard or recognized till that moment, yet thirsted for finding. It matters little the path you chose, only that you must love it to be worth the following. And that is not a matter of choice, but of receptivity, recognition and surrender. In short, I found my own way of listening, and a thread to follow, both given and received.

In more than gratitude I thank William Stafford in whose life and poetry I feel a certain kinship. His stance within living was in one breath effortlessly graceful and affectionate, quiet and fierce. Dealing with the wealth of my self-criticism about writing I remember his answer to a question during an interview with Cynthia Lofsness when she was inquiring about his habit of writing a poem every day.

She said, "Having written so many fine poems, what do you do if you're not so good the next day?" His reply, "Well, then I just lower my standards." ⁰¹

So the point is simply to keep moving, not evaluate and criticize each leaf that falls. Neither did my one word "answer" say what to write, nor even that it should be 'good' by any measure. So - just write. Simple, if not so easy. Truth is, I can't judge the merit of what I write. All I can do is endeavor to be honest. That will be challenge enough. Anything after that is up to you.

 ⁰¹ from the introduction by Robert Bly, The Darkness Around Us Is Deep, William Stafford.