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by Clare Rosenfield

The Guest
The immaculate makes room 

for the newborn. 

She loves her handiwork. 

Mystery sings crickets in her ears. 

She inhales and a door swings open. 

A large rocking chair invites her to sit. 

Hinges fall away. 

Silence, crickets, breath rock the baby. 

The Guest will stay awhile, 

perhaps the whole night long. 


As Night Falls 

As night falls, 

draping its hush over the shoulders of space, 

I am silenced, 

a balcony under my feet, 

a railing fitted into my palms. 

As if by the sweep of a brush, 

darkness paints quietude with large smooth strokes 

over the din of day. 

It is time for night creatures 

to sniff the aromatic air, 

set off on some drunken venture 

of which we may grasp only an inkling in the rustling of a bush 

or a quick screech hurtled into the night. 

Life dances in the roots of all things. The eye widens. 

The unseen seen, 

holds all. 



Burmese Buddhist Sayadaw Monk

by Clare Rosenfield

Peace Intention


We call upon the cosmic oneness to help us create peace in ourselves and in the world.

We call upon the cosmic oneness to help us release from this planet all causes of violence, war, and abuse.

We ask that the planet be protected from harmful internal and external influences.

We ask the cosmic oneness to help us create a consciousness which respects the rights of all beings to live, evolve, and blossom.

We ask that love, wisdom, and compassion guide the intentions and actions of all human beings.

We ask the cosmic oneness to transform our consciousness, open our heart, and align us with global justice.

We now affirm that we harbor no resentment toward anyone so that we can act to resolve conflicts with a peaceful heart.

We envision peace in our hearts and peace in the world here and now.

We affirm that all this is and it is.

by Jacques Tombazian and Clare Rosenfield 

Endless Earths

An infinite number spins
Around their suns, full of lusty life,
Revolving islands, with ravenous creatures rife,
The untouched Edens waiting for our sins.
How might we treat them better than our own
Despoiled Earth, once a garden grove,
As, banished to the stars, we restless rove,
Yearning for a place that feels like home.

Nicholas Gordon

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