dark moon passing

Molten currents
of
stardust ...
ursine scarred
mythos lined
flared intention of wool rising
wooliness ... the kinda that scratches and bites at softer things
like skin and ego
discordant by nature
fealty a fault
no tepid passive dance
tango becomes him
gypsy passion drips from lips and hands onto waiting wounds
grizzled roughness that craves the taste of
chamomile silk on the amaranth of tongue
fight yields
to
transcend
the white spaces weep between the poets words
revealed knowing
transcend this day ....

day

green sings in its waking reach for blue
tempted by the day & crane song
echoes of longing tickle the fibers of feathered things ...
as breath deepens
age thickens
petaled anticipation tempered by willow bark smooth
knowledge tilled in soil chilled by winter's heed
loves wing
transience green

The Worry Line

The stories we tell ourselves ...
sharp black narrative line
inked in
jangly half-truths
clothes-pinned to the high-wire
alongside scars carved by my own hand
raised & tender as a scarlet finch's wing
deep in the shadowed alchemy
of stories drunk on the vapor of belied Chiron
verdant trust lost in the Grimm forest
of
shame & frosted glass-full
surprise :
unwelcome as a forecast of fire-ants
The stories we tell ourselves ...
hiding without seeking
come out, come out wherever you are!
sun welts the foreign corners of ice & diamonds
light reflects, wind stirs
something lingers
something makes itself felt
Spring 

a particle knowing 

detected only by this barely detectable fragrance
of
cherry-blossom buds
The stories we tell ourselves ...
straighten the line
don't bleed out
follow the soul curve
bend
and
lean into surrender

of noon

In
the space between the wires there is gray
exactly where it needs to be
rise and fall and rise
to
fall
with tendered grace
to the accompaniment of wind & weather
as ice tendrils
stripe the day sublime