During the Gatheriing I bought a book from Timothy P. McLaughin a spoken word poet who does much of his creative work in the wilderness. He is best known for his powerful style of embodied recitation and his commitment to revitalizing ancient oral trditions in fresh contexts. McLaughlin lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico together with his wife Madi Sato (who sang beautiful the enclosed song) and two children. I’m greatful to have met him and thankful for his sharing his stories and poets with us.

I awoke to

a woodpecker tapping in the 

cold stove, the clouded glass

his drum, calling in the dawn,

knowing the timbers

he’d thudded before would soon

sing with flame in the dark

iron box. I had even

asked for a sign,

some way to feel sure the arrow

of my body was aimed true

before flinging from

the bowstring

after sitting with the stones

in awakened repose

through many seasons.

There was a mouse, too,

newly expired,

laid out on a white napkin,

presented to me in

my daughter’s still wild

and open hands.

He was magnificent in his way,

silver fur agleam and 

jet eyes just closed-

his sorting and storing and tiny

plans all finished now.

Waking to it all, I set down

my insistent list and stood firm;

then opened wide the doors-

of the stove and the lodge-

and watched the woodpecker dart out,

turn and sail eastward,

then rise into the blue void.

My heart unfurled with his wings-

the bird body cruciform to the firmament-

and I began to step to

his lingering rhythm, my feet

light with the song

floating from the wood walls and

the chopped logs about to be burned

to a wispy afterlife of air

and prayer. All was

indeed well and would certainly

be well for many more

big entrances of Sun

and subtle mirrorings Moon