Poem In Progress

Compassion

First, in my quiet depths, 

where no eye can see, 

my heart does its slow work— 

like magnetic fields gathering 

in the earth's hidden core, 

drawing scattered fragments 

into alignment.

This inward tending, 

this patient cultivation 

of tenderness toward the wounded parts 

of myself, the brittle edges 

I've learned to soften 

with understanding instead of judgment.

And then, without announcement, 

without effort or intention, 

something luminous begins to rise—

The way aurora borealis 

emerges from invisible forces, 

solar wind meeting atmosphere 

in a dance too beautiful 

to be contained by darkness.

My compassion becomes visible 

before I've spoken a word, 

before I've moved to help— 

it shimmers in the space around me, 

green and gold ribbons 

of light that others feel 

in their bones, a warmth 

that makes them turn toward me 

like flowers following the sun.

This is the mystery: 

how the deep work I do in solitude 

becomes the gift that illuminates 

not just my own small corner 

of the world, but reaches 

across the vast night sky 

of human need, 

painting hope in colors that have 

no names, only the recognition 

of being truly seen.