We wrap her in a cloth of gold,
as she lies in the path of cedar mulch.
We weave scarves over her body,
the colors fold back on themselves,
double in intensity, change as the wind
moves through them. Ribbons of healing
braid into prayer, into bird song, into sky.
Our bodies make their own music,
our hands and arms their own dance.
Slowly, slowly, we pull back the layers,
smooth as a magician's bouquet of silk.
She rises from her bed of leaves,
clothed now in her own light.

Healing Grace
by Paula Timpson • East Hampton

Grace touches
Healings Come
while the seasons
turn and suns bend
Moons fill and stars fall
Grace touches
us each time we
let go

Rising
by Maria G. Troia • Smithtown

There is a hollow ache in me
at never having slept
under a starlit sky
as you have–
in the woods, among all
that God intended
to roam wild
and free.
There is a hollow ache too
for the grace that lives
behind eyes that burn
with wisdom and faith;
eyes like the river that sustained you,
mysterious but undeniable life
bubbling beneath a crystal surface.

You told me you camped alone once
in the mountains of Taos,
drifting to sleep to the calls of coyotes
while lightning fractured
the distant night sky
and you waited to hear God's voice.
I dreamed I saw you there,
saw your feet putting roots
into the red clay,
red clay that trembled
and swallowed you whole.
But you were smart enough
to yield to it
and then rise like the phoenix at dawn,
bold,
beautiful;
spreading your powerful wings.

Putting My Dog to Sleep
For Dr. Drach
by Gloria g. Murray • Deer Park

that day when you told me
he had reached the end
of his dog years
when his glazed hazel eyes
no longer knew me
when you took him from my arms
held him firmly under yours
and said what must be done
I kissed that soft spot by his temple
touched the silver name tag
against my salty lips
let my friend take the pen
from my trembling fingers
and sign the place where I could not
heard the door close behind him
and then– out of the belly
of my mouth
an animal roar
bellowing down the hall
and into the room
where, with tears in your eyes
you gave to him
that final sleep

Going into Winter
by Patrice Wishon • Asheville, NC

I dressed the beds in
winter attire today,
And watched a few more
dogwood leaves drop to the ground.
The squirrels shouted from the trees,
"It's time to get ready!"
And the insects that set up
summer camp in my yard
remind me that it's time to go in...
"Don't be afraid," whisper the
amber-colored leaves and the
fading blooms of autumn.
"We won't be gone forever."
So I slide into my cocoon of a bed
And realize that transformation
is a process
And that hibernation is
more than sleep.
I, too, will go in for the winter–
Into the depths of my soul,
To tend the garden there.
Don't be afraid, though...
I won't be gone forever.