moon in virgo

Standing on the front porch, I can smell it . .
the smell of leaves burning !
I step outside
and
fall to the sidewalk of 1974 :
leaves are burning . .
somewhere
very close
wafting
hazing the neighborhood & the moon with presence
joy pours into me from fires expectation
and the rush of a kiss
life & love rustle with crisp forgiveness
14 feels like this ; tight & wild
organic & open
leaves are burning. . .
somewhere
very near
around the corner
in cornfields & cartwheels
catapulting innocence closer to the edge
twigs snap from the weight of
this story, this moment
caught in the tendrils of leaves smoke
rising
rising ....
to circle a moon lodged between the branches
of who I thought I was
and
who I have become
leaves burning me home ...

toll

A Price paid
twisted & wrung from the marrow
measured, in part,
by sorrow & loneliness
no regret
no risk too great
intimacy gathered in hours weaved
in ease & knowing
holding you i touched your face & knew how to let go and yet hold fast
your fragility & sacrifice have been weighed
your strength is daunting & wired with the precision of gods
as breeze turns to wind
under my hands the dry tired grass is cool, sticky
while the earth beneath remains warm & moist
as i dig for a balance
there
laying down in a paint-box of autumn
forgiveness nests around us
nests . . shifting, moving
leaves falling
part & parcel
you take my hand & bring it to your lips. . . inhaling deeply the fire of this season
the burn of earth, desire & green-growing things
open & fearless
you take my hand
leaves falling
falling fast & thick
everywhere
falling
and with every leaf the hole is pierced by sweetness
cutting with gamboge sharpness & some half-remembered giddiness
childish, innocent in it's ease
. .  oh wait . . .
It is joy
joy speckled pumpkin-vermillion & chestnut
shards of electric fire-joy shoot thru that marrow, thru the skin that is melting into october's grass
riding that wind into saffron-surrender
holding on
feeling every scar, every toll extracted
alive
hands crunching this canvas
holding fast as warm phoenixed musk-brilliance rises
pressed into skin naked & pearl-hot chilled
open & fearless
filled  . . .

Oisin

Skin and darkness
bodies learned and whisper-amazed
self is not a word here; as each need & wish is tendered
offered up . . .
to give & receive with equal weight & treasure
sureness is spoken in velvet tender loops of blue
willing and pulled to the edge of some
wild & primitive bourbon shore
skin hot . . melted
a thousand kisses deep
ancient of seasons change and
an electric borealis
we smell of snow and peanut butter
skin and darkness

hymn to midnight o'clock

     Dear particles of stardust, train rumblings and the low drone churn of car exhaust as it moves back and forth on a night remarkably chilly and tasting of every clear mercury-autumn night for the last thousand years, Dear air that I breathe, I have for too long focused on the order and the line of things, the right of things, the rhyme of things, I have listened to good music, but ignored the secret quiet beating of my own heart, I have watched the work of others, the dance of others while silencing my own feet, taking my own desire to leap into the prism'd waters for granted, I have tempered my territory believing I am only just so capable, I have apologized for getting things wrong and for being too too human when really really I am an enchanted being with wings strong enough, legs swift enough, and heart soft enough to carry the combined weight of wings and wonder to 138 million miles above the whispered leaves of the curly willow outside my window, Dear bones I will push you into years of morning sun dappling the landscape of plains and prairie to rest a little, lean a little and carry the folding fragility of this moment, this moment bigger,  truer - becoming golden.   

thinking 11:11

i am sometimes surprised
at the softness of my skin
certain places contain no trace of solar flares and breathing
merely the rise and fall of weather systems over the prairie
and
a certain give … and take
nubile hardley seems the word
yet
yet ...
there is a timeless cadence in the sensation of need
though my hand lacks the rough mastered determination of yours
… so
i smile
and turn to the sun 

waxing crescent in scorpio

Sliver of moon
evening falls
and it carries upon it the barest chill & screech owl song
fleeting dusk it is ....
removing us from the coarse, narrow existence of our day
allowing us to
breathe
breath and release
to feel
to give
to be
the chill settles about the what remains of green-growing-things
and the ivory blossom of knowing
wait for me ...
just beyond that curious twisted tree
as i am meant to hold that hand
& tender your worries
slow your pace and
wait
for
me
as i once found the strength & ability
to wait for you
and then we'll dance . . . .