Diana Woodcock

 
To Glance and Dance

No matter how passionately
he mocked at Death and Time
with those wild glances
and wandering dances,

Yeats is with us no more.
And yet he is. And so
I follow his instructions
and pray always for the gumption

to glance and dance mockingly,
provocatively at Time and Death
till I’m finally swept
up and away. Who can say

the poet didn’t have the right idea?
The older I get, the more clear
it becomes the thought of death
numbs – time as well

if one doesn’t make an effort
to break the spell by mocking.
Why be hackled and shackled
by the two when all around us

the boundless ether persists,
calling our names,
inviting us into the heart
            of all that exists.

All Around Me

All around me,
trees are toppling,
smashing through roofs
into bedrooms where toddlers
lie sleeping. Who’s keeping
watch? How can I lead
a calm, untroubled old age

when each day’s bad news
leaves me angry and confused?
Refusing to yield to eco-anxiety,
I turn to the latest reports from
the field, to beavers coming back
to restore damaged ecosystems,
to bison returning                                          

to tribal lands. Beyond all the
exploitation and extraction
unraveling whole webs of life,
good people are putting up a fight.
And bison, grazing once more
where they belong, restore tribal
culture, transform a landscape

as they create nesting habitats for
birds, wallows for amphibians, and
plant wildflowers and new grass
that attracts pollinators. All around me,
tornadoes are swirling, strong winds
are hurling people at their property
in all directions. Winters are warmer,

summers hotter. No wonder we all totter
on the edge. But the river goes on
flowing under the bridge, the Great
Blue heron soaring above it. The heart
goes on aching and breaking,
waiting for (anticipating)
            a miracle.