Day 10 ~ on grief & the where

whatever space it was remains . . . .

particles bonded together gathering 

exploding in light & air to life ever briefly 

remains 

until ....

it's all mystery & love 

what!?? 

this space, this moment 

but this hole-of-missing? what happens next? 

mystery & love 

how deeply the sinking, i know 

ringed in snapshots of tingling experience 

the moon watches 

the sun waits for our return to light 

li

bird on a wire #2

excess & regret 

weighing the thread down weighing the words down until they are so small small I can’t find them 

locked in carpet fibers, ash & forgotten love 

like autumn’s leaves piled piled against the foundation 

impossible shades of brown brown brown 

oh how now brown dao

or should it be bough? 

where does love go to wilt? to grow? 

shadows or light 

up or down . .. within without 

excess & regret fill the pockets of tricksters & high-divers 

also carried by owls across great divides 

how much more can we divide? 

where is the glory in loss 

nothing ever truly disappears merely transforms 

. . .excess & regret 

 

it's been a minute . . . .. .

dog stars & chariots 

cowboys with lariats 

time-traveled whisperers seeking dogma & campfires

turning towards the sun on the backside of solstice 

becoming the wolf moon at three o’clock on a Monday 

mired in these layers of clouds 

blue upon white upon blue upon white upon breath 

again with the hours & ticking of towers 

no

clocks tick 

towers fall to constellations of sorrows

while wonder thrums to the stretch of light & wild 

becoming golden possible 

once more 

pieces

give voice to the basement children
wounded pieces ferocious & furrowed
mouth taped shut
deep cuts
song silenced
banished to the nevermore
cornered & caught
sixty year war

these words

ink out the tempest
soothe the fire
rearranging--twisting the collide of desires
defining friction
with
labyrinthine burrows of dark benediction

where is the brightness?
where the bloom?

here
here .... come away from the blight
come to the warmth of vast open light

here

at long last ... seen
colors
masks
moonlight obsidian
flannel diamond expedition
parched quantum fission

these parts weathered each moment with all that they knew
these parts named--ordained in a Breakfast Club coup

long may you rumpus! long may you rest
wounds unburdened in my storybook quest 

four thirty-nine

what is it to be beloved?
pocketed at ten 'til four on an afternoon in late august
pocketed
against a small stone picked up
from sidewalk's sunlit cracks
outside it smells of fresh mown grass
and a promised rain
outside

what is it to be beloved?
held as a bluejay feather found
and lost and found again
held so as to not bend the vane
hollow shaft the color of aged bones in a dream

what is it to be beloved?
rolled out onto the pine table as clay to be molded
smoothed and pressed by a vision only seen by
one
unveiled bit by love-resilient bit
until form becomes space becomes
sun
stone
crack
rain
feather found dream
by one
unveiled
love
--beloved--

beholden ~ ~ ~

 beholden ~ 

how do we get from there 

to here 

here to there 

afar from womb & wonder 

tightly bound gravity held 

to the 

percussive lightening 

wicked wildling 

riotously arriving

wearing chaos & wisdom 

in an old comfy black tee 

woven from ancient-star-stories 

then 

tossing it aside for raw giggly-ridiculous-laughter 

piercing 

cutting

cuttting

cutting

thru the shit

hold tight & release 

hold tight & release 

hold tight & release 

leaving space

only …space .. and the awareness

of space 

you taught well oh coyote wizard … oh being of light! 

being of joy! 

stretch

i can't separate enough

peel

myself away from the wonder or the tumult 

long 

     enough to write a word down 

maybe i should try to write a word up 

with the tiny white hairs of my dog 

or the blood of a thousand sorrows that feels so laced within this day . . . 

all here 

all knowing 

maybe i can just become a cloud full of particles & 

change & sunlight . . ..

maybe then 

just then i can become hollow enough 

full enough to listen to the wind
finding contentment in the bind