frameless

There are no good photos of my home.

Light and shadow on a window.

The trunk of a cedar tree.

A deer eating hostas.

Some flowers.

A web between

the currant branches.

To see a tree,

you must look at the roots

beneath your feet

and then look up to the sky.

To see the trees,

you must walk through them.

You must walk around a flower.

You must look at the window

as the light changes

throughout the day…

throughout the seasons…

throughout the decades.

What was there before the window?

What will be there, when it is gone?

You must see the world

… through the eyes of the deer

… the eyes of the rabbit

… the eyes of the spider.

No. A rectangle of time

can show you nothing.

There are no good photos of my home

These pages are meaningless.

A handful of words

on the rectangles of a page?

There are not enough pages

or even enough worlds

that could hold enough pages,

that could begin to tell you

what is real and what is true.

I am frameless.

You cannot see me,

within the rectangle of a photo.

Nor can you understand me

through words on a page.

You must walk around me.

And beside me.

Not just for a day,

but for many years.

All of the years.

You must see my world

through my conversations…

through my relationships…

through my communities.

You must study what was…

before I was.

What will be…

after I have been.

It would take a lifetime,

my lifetime…

to see me.

I am.

Frameless.