summer sorrow's alchemy

a small life 

compressed as a mouse upon a button of tender stone 

folded pressed 

marigolds & riverbeds ribboned packages of blooming 

rolled rolled & rolled again 

but oh! even the smallest trees feel breeze 

and 

cranes journey & green becomes 

sugar 

life does this sometimes

Once upon a time 

i allowed death to swallow me 

perhaps not all of me 

but the parts that dance & write most 

definitely 

they lay somewhere quietly watching trains roll past 

counting the cars with graffiti art as if they would be gathered 

at the end of the 

day 

as 

strange tokens of life against the portals of pain, cobwebs & dreams 

rousing waking rising

the dead come to me as birds & thunder 

fleeting shadows within he cherry tree 

songs caught in my hand 

feathers 

distant rumblings in a clear blue sky

wings & lightening 

all here about & within 

lifting the day to the sun 

being with ... 

Day 14 - ehh

 the bridge was burned at dawn by a mere thought of eraser 

misplaced perhaps, in the dark hours of dawn 

the command-shift-! key took to heart the rage built upon the now cold 

 cup of coffee left in the garden as the rain came 

(no technology will ever duplicate the first scent of petrichor) 

damn you all to hell! you bright shiny chips of disaster 

think, destroy, burn, water, grow 

whatever 

Day 13 - 2 blocks south toward the river

hanging over the thicket of brambled forest this acre once unfettered 

lies forgotten - ditch water still--broken by deadfall of oak & pine & maple 

strangely quiet it hides north of river & sky 

tucked 

as luck would have these empty hours 

perched here in repose & mischief's gloaming loneliness 

this day is now ripe with possibility & dragons due to a chance climb among 

branches drapped & drapping 

over the thicket of brambled forest 

oh to remain a leaf here . . .  swelling with sun 

Day 12 - Norma

how could i have forgotten the dark light of my mother's eyes? 

I placed all memory upon the bruising swell and forgot

how piercing & lovely she was 

how sparkle exploded about her in whiskey & rhythm 

smelling of timeless garden fancy & lark cigarettes 

zipping her skirts 

pleading to try on her heels meticulously boxed at the top of the closet left hand side 

meadowlarks, goldenrod ponies & autumn leaves 

lithe 

precise 

smokey beauty 

how could i have forgotten 

and not realized all the magic she blew my way . . . 

Day 11 - this lake

this lake lies small and distant

apparent

alive - falling now swift blooming quiet of another time

silence unfreezing  

strong they call us . . . .

Original : from Mark Helprin's Winter's Tale  

At the bottom of this lake lies the city. From our great height it seems small and distant, but the activity within it is apparent, for even when the city appears to be no bigger than a beetle, it is alive.We are falling now, and our swift unobserved descent will bring us to life that is blooming in the quiet of another time. As we float down in utter silence, into a frame again unfreezing, we are confronted by a tableau of winter colors. These are very strong, and they call us in . . . .