unlocked

i tell you of my day;
the turning of rain to frost upon twilight's windows
the fierce duality of my contentment
the friction of bone upon sinew
i tell of the taste of field honey on my tongue

i ask you things temporal & temporary
things eternal & of dark mystery
things rising & falling
things unspoken & chanted under stars
i ask for morsels of your ordinary

i sit in patient presence of the sublime
transcendent love
transcendent simplicity
transcendent songs
i sit with you in the secret garden of evermore 

where it takes you.

two
panes
of
glasses
lying
parallel
to
another
suspended
in the white-late-december-almost-there-almost-not sky
frosted gray blankness rising
to
a secreted waning winter moon

between them
miles of stark cold nothing-everything
two panes of glass
slick
smoothed of want
pressed in transparent pain
wakened to knowing
love resides
in
the
space
between
snow falls silently residing in
the smooth corners of
whispered delight
press
hold
cold becomes the night
becomes the glass
rise
hold
darkness the great equalizer
and
we stars

post

windows hastily opened
apple cider afternoon
mercury-dripping
dipping to cool words inked
black on white
cut-out in ice perfections slice
in five/four time
cool me ....
cool
so neatly the burn lies folded under the tabernacle pillow
gray velvet peeking
broke open by words
dripping--
black on white on wildly beating hearts
five/four time crashing about the overcast day of gray
open
cooled.....
breathing
frost forms upon the glass
cool me

hollowed ground

figs lay there upon the ground;
marzipan & acorns
a fairytale of scattered words
to the fallen frost
a promise
a night
a light
spoken charms & curses
steam rising from fermented dreams
bundle up tight
tangle the wool-weave tight to your heart
stand with me
upon this sacred place
stand;
broken whole
tokens of mystery
taken
shaken from
your fist--sugar-dusted figs thrown
offered to stars
as talismans
a promise
a gift
to a winter moon shrouded by clouds & expectation
hidden from sight
ringed by particles of golden light
this night

brew . . .

Wolfsbane, salvia,saffron thread
3 breaths of moonlight encircle the bed
Polaris softly beckons on galaxies shore
Venus brightens & sits at my door

Copper & bone true mordant tight
pain sharply nudges to awaken our flight
sage & bittersweet plucked, tightly bundled
Patrón & melissa measured & muddled

Drink it up!

Happiness waits on edges of teal
as we punish self for crimes temporal or real

Let go

acknowledge the toll on your heart
all glory, divinity
and
raw missing parts
humanity is born from shadows & light
happy is worthy of this soul-saffron fight

So,
drink the cup of forgiveness steeped in stardust
raise your glass
taste the thunder
and step closer to trust

maintenant

... brushes against me
like violet tulle upon skin left in the sun too long
startling in its edges, wakeful in its harshness
i am poised on the late day cusp of nearness
closer to the fire of being
resonating to the beat of living
waiting no more for the knock upon my door
upon my heart
i am the door
i am the one i've been waiting for ,,, 

JUXTAPOSED

There was a time
when i was content to be suzy-chapstick-shortcake
butterfly pink
frosted
pretty polished shiny
as the chrome on that 1958 beige rambler
that sits idle in that driveway--
there
there ....
perfect
forgotten
smelling like my mother's tabu & pendelton sweater
pearls & bonanza all wrapped up like a present ...
your present
waiting to ferment,
simmered .
age does that....
this time
today
now
i am gypsy-crazy
intently wandering for something dark & blue
my core of pierced truth
draped in broken fragments of my eternal pixie-vision
the desire
to stand awash in the blood, bone & breath of all that has come before
and all that lingers
pulsing beyond the borders of
this knowing
this time ...
awaiting only my own blossoming
dragon-blood fire thick & ethereal as an approaching thunderstorm
whirling
learning
growing
reaching
not content
not pink
but tangled in blues
greys ,,,
yearning into the far empty corners of my want
gypsy-crazy
as i intently desire .....
wakefulness

on waiting ...

before the blue-glass wall of you
unrecognizable i've become
perched upon a walnut branch
deemed muse
or
magician
by your tongue, by your hand

let's talk about your hands for a minute, shall we?
how they are all i see when i close my eyes
strong, oak-molasses thick
i shall miss them most of all

i am weary of waiting

gather all my perched
     watchful minutes
alchemy them into ten thousand sparrows

waiting

for a thousand years i have waited for you to see me here
waiting behind the glass
watching stars, dust & shadows shift
settle
waiting
to dance, to alight, to spark, to fuck, to collide
waiting

snow falls heavy today ...
and i will fly away from the blue-glass wall

of 

you

bleu

the cut of sorrow lies endless
azure tempered to the tilt of the sun
as it illuminates
grains & gravity
nothing is permanent
nothing is permanent
say it loud and forever long
until
the salt taste stills with water
water bright upon tongues too weary to speak of color
holding to songs rising , orange blooming in the west
love flowing unbridled by the tight harnessed tempest
of
yesterday's news
unbridled
unbuckled
reborn in the soft turning of leaves
aureolin to gold to carmine to gone          
daylight tempts expectation
of
a
kinder tide
a gentle nudge to dreams of
thursdays and cellos
pushing past the simple friction of time & breath
to wrap oneself in the depths of
moonlight, melody
to remember 

of nearly twilight

putting down the colored pencil
she took up the
cotton sock to darn a thousand years ago .... thread
falling between fingers alight
eager crisp persimmon possibility poured out of her folded
enfolded borrowed and stolen
she became the one holding the sock
the one holding the red thread
tendering the hole
counting the minutes until his return
forgetting the colored pencil
forgetting the open trees open sky smells of pine promise
pick up the saffron salmon pink
color this twilight
and
wait no more

time signature

upcycling the empty hollow places to reverb with extended joy
into the parked-particled corners between sky & bone
heart thrumming to timeless 3/4 rythms
thrumming
thrumming
beat on
beat on
the sunshine of this day
this day
streaming
123-123
hearing the faint echo of some part left stranded upon a lichen boulder
face-up to the sun
as the whisper of wind & water empty me of all regret
123-123
i am full of aspen leaves, sorrow & impish possibility
this day
thrumming
fragility melts in the current ..

golden becomes me
123-123

white noise of an afternoon

perhaps it is the fly buzzing in the next room
against the dimpled glass
or
the echoing
buzz of the speedway 3.7 miles to the south
undercurrent becomes the undertow
distraction to pause;
pause in the paisley steps of the day
pause in the presence of breaths
pause in the wonder of gravity
lucky is the lost

weathervane

i should have woke you at the dark of three
to see if you still smell of woodsmoke & whiskey
to see if the warm of you radiates in your sleep
and if your hands can erase the doubt of me

i should have called when the leaves turned red
to hear that note of 1977 in your voice
to feel the static current of now pressed against my cheek
and to let my mouth go dry with the words you said

i should stand in the sunlight naked & fearless at two o'clock in the afternoon
to listen for the blue jay's call
and the rumble of being
to breathe with the westerly wind as it waits upon the moon

i should know you'd taste of cinnamon & morning 

Alice & the Hatter

Alice lives in a room with no windows and doors
safe from her dreams, she can't think anymore
too caught up with pages and decisions bred
too unremarkable to know where to lay her head
anywhere she chooses
anywhere she falls
eyes closed upon the morrow
eyes closed forevermore
Alice hides her face from all the swirling motes
safe inside her own life
Alice dreams no more

The Hatter plays the game 
with the smoothness of a king
all believing he is foolish
he is nothing what he seems
he turns his gaze on Alice, there locked up in her womb
he toys with her affection
he steals a kiss and
soon
Alice peers at starshine, there between the cracks
Alice feels a stirring, and pushes something back
pushes with a strength no one thought she had
     except for the Hatter 
who knew down in his heart
that Alice was his truth, light-keeper of the dark
sent to tame his madness, sent to still his tears

Alice and the Hatter--forever in the mirror
stashing all tomorrows, with dreams as old as time
tending their own madness
coloring outside the lines 

the space between

there
in the swollen space between crickets and cooling
comes the moment
of crystal presence
briefly glimpsed
we catch the flick of it's vanishing tail
like some humminbird-comet darting across the dome of day
gone
glimpsed
then gone ...
such beautiful quiet 

hand print

objects have always emanated a particle presence :

warm to cool 

porcelain cup to weave of linen

hands that trace the curve of a wall 

wood & weather 

the rusted thin wires of a birdcage 

yellow-parakeet-memory 

counters cracked with age and baking as 

heat & time 

wraps & welds 

fingertips roll across the corners of books 

dusty with captain kangaroo morning stillness 

tick tock tick tock 

the air we breathe

secrets locked ….

hold …

seek 

0 degrees ( deux )

empty
Mercury in retrograde
drained of everything but elementary desires
.... eat
drink
drink me ...
my smallness intrigues me.
i am invisible
hollow
orphaned from the moon and you ....
untethered and unbalanced
eat
drink ....
searching for definition
ANY definition !!
against the yellowed october leaves
of the
curly willow outside my glass walls ...
outside the definition of me
is it cold ? is it past ? are we there yet ?
this vacant inability to feel .
Mercury at 0 degrees .
pierce this numbness ; pull me closer ...
fill in the void with colored pencils, indigo and the scent of pumpkin ...
bounce me back to Jupiter
and the hope and
pinch of something true ....

saudade

Aubergine mums
exploding in the shadow of the japanese maple
holly debuting with random pop-orb berries
promising
something . . .
time snaps into the rusted clockwork of possibility
steamed open
with no watermark of completion
no crimson waxed seal
tinkering with windmills & wildcraft
visibly stripped of warrior strength &
sage gypsy purpose
my tongue writing Monet visions
while my body leans into the stitch & knit
knit one pearl two
imagination felted & warm replaces
saffron heights of wonder & reach
marveling over the aubergine
but all the while, wishing for
the marigold ...

bird's eye view: history lesson re·dux

bird's eye view: history lesson re·dux: Oh Columbia!  -- imagined history of our ancients -- where is our emancipator of despair? bison spirit rising ,,,, compassionate libera...

half moonstone's throw ...

That coral-vermillion moon half ....
shuttered light-well to Oz
captivated me all night: 
being
driving
walking
standing
poised 
upon a ledge that has become comfortably edge-like
 . . .   what is it ?
is it Fall ... ?
ding dong the witch is dead fall ? 
no
it is more
this otherworldly tincture of days
this moonglow spell of night
casting ancient dreams from yellow school buses & winged horses
constellations shift shadows into suspended seconds
laced to underwear & footballs
casting visions
A longing to be 15 .. ok ... maybe 16
lanky & full with secret words of lace in my pockets
we kiss
in grass, on beds, on bikes, in rivers . .  because we are young
well,
you are 17 with tamed arrogance & mahogany bones
the milky way & every nasturtium belong to us
I know what you look like in mornings and can smell you on my fingers
innocence seeds trust long fired in the bowels of mordor & mirth
bodies are lithe & limber twined naked and easy
our tongues play cribbage against lips pink & curious & sure
paused on backs flat upon earth sumac-red-deep 
and
 ,,, softly
suddenly. . .
the electric panes of glass slide
revealing
home 
in
the moon 

north-west-morning-light

Tepid, this day ...
hanging garden of fissured possibility
inked in spaces left by who i was
and
who remains …
fractured mist rising
from
an ancient cigar box
smelling of longer days
the hands of ancestors scoop under my skin along my bones
touching the hollow places
where i choose to linger
and
wait
for the righting of the moon 

equal night

crickets break the stillness
as dawn's mist settles between thick branches
heavy with the weight of you
somewhere to the west
         a dog barks
then stillness returns
morning's are like this --
pensive
sublimely tilted
fathomless
desire tips verdant leaves toward
winter's imaginary respite
soon ....

night

sensation sometimes disguises itself as sophomoric sentimentality
candy-apple brightness hurls along causing the hairs to stand
up
on your forearm
to the distant sound of crickets and cellos and bees
what is authentic movement?
the downward dog of you
glass crusted
crackled with the dust of unknown origins
reach beyond the tactile first responder
reach marrow deep to scrap the soul fibers of Jupiter
from your tongue
oh petty benign graze of presence ....
sooth the night wrinkles
draw a warm bath
and
sing to me
of
waxwings & marigolds

17

you are an equation of fire + blue
components missing
lost in the rivers of your storied rye attention
you are of will and red rock
fierce

soft

as somber introspection frees me from the cage

camped beneath the moon in september

somewhere . . .
a fire sparks
snapping open to the belly-sound of
moonbells & violins
dust spins crystalline
and
porcelain thins
willow sails lowered to
the drift & roll
wind out of the north, north-west
vellum held under my tongue
to melt into honey & rye
felted transience pressed between newsprint
and
pluto's apples . .
ladders of bone rise from the wallow & swill
sleep .... rest
gypsies dance upon your grave
and call you home . . .
call you home

americana loneliness

walking in a wild place
gauthiers & glasses
oil dripped from silver pots
and
hands wet with dark molasses

steps are wild sleepy
hazed with dust & brine
coldness cuts straight to the heart
as rain & mercury-will collide

heavy seems the parceled bones
tender is the dream
gathering stories of fierce trembling light
nothing's ever as it seems. . . .

walking in a wild place
gauthiers & glasses
oil dripped from silver pots
hands wet with dark molasses

rain like this

thunder becomes my blood in the thirteenth hour 

rolling without pause churning, angry 

rain my breath 

released to this downpour 

relentlessly vertical 

the only refuge under the shadows of trees

even when it fades 

the storm remains 

grasp and go .... on

i steal wonder from things
thiefed from transparent moments 

tucked 

between ancient vermillion hands
hummingbird to honeysuckle
butterfly on blossom white
small drops of water delight

from copper to cut

silverwonder presses down-down upon fingerstips 

stretched -- raised 

in rebellion to distant moons 

how can this electric thread be tamed? 

can this tempest be soothed? 

sun dripped through to spectrum's bone  --  

eyes to hear a cello's lowing pull 

ears awash with a thousand colors 

September smells of important things 

and 

the taste of wind docks upon my tongue 

as lips blush in constant anticipation 

breath sparks fire shadows 

to light to light 

heart's thunder thief 

stolen 

tucked
reeling
in 

this 

wonderspell 

the middle way

caught in tiny imperfections
stretched tight over inked narcissus pressed
        between
                  old panes of glass
on a summer noon tide
cracks
bends
breaks
awaits
... the rushing waters to smooth the stone fields
undo
rewind
hell bent
glorious ride upon the backs of a thousand songs
carry on
carry on

blue of the soft wild open

blue of the soft wild open
fill bones hollow'd
as violet hides in spectrum's shade
there
beneath the oak branches
illumination softly tethered
--sparrows --
pull the sun into corners cut by time
everything sways to some silent melody
pulsed
pitched
as the neighbor's roofline
steep and treacherous
morning's anthem
to
wakeful rising
to
things empty & seeking

before the darkness of the night 

suddenly at three o'clock

sheets hung on a clothes line
tethered, tucked
drying
rippling
in this august breeze
grasp the corners
bring to your nose
inhale
this fresh-linen-sunshine
inhale
all that is held there
eyes close -- moment held  
perfection found
fresh summertime
ice tea on the back step
dog barks
sounds of children around the corner
breeze rising to the top of the hackberry tree
grass under feet bare
grasp the corners
one, two, three ....
three minutes of this moment

grasp the perfect corners

defining time with color in August . .

I was made to paint this porch

shades of gray & turquoise
melt in the summer heat
trimming in 

beadboard to panes
sweat
and
breath
and
brush stroke
the rhythm moves to the sound of sunshine
as blood & decision pump
in my heart

under skin
hot 

August hot 

sweat at the back of my neck feels like
time turning back
stilling the days
drenched in lucky 

I was made to paint this porch

Sturgeon Moon

storms of earth
and
blue-heron seekers
what fractal fragility lies under
this sultry haze of August nights
here on the prairie grass
where
softness
drips
from thunder
and
the dust of bees
dreams rise from
fire
ice
and
the dance of the moonshine warriors, peacemakers
and
beekeepers
we paint ourselves naked
and
frolic with the monkey-wrenching tight-rope walkers
shifting into love activists
thick & plush in woolen kilts
mighty our rose tongues
and sharp the bite
with softness
secretly tucked
between the blood folds
and
below freckled skin imprinted by sailing ships
and ink trails
replete with sorrow

sorrow

buoyant and lucky
the cursed ones
squeeze that misshapen fractal along the palm-heart-line
and tender it's story
with a circle of stones
and
wild birds

half past fearless

..it will begin today

at four in the morning

on the heels of this full thunder moon ....

in a

softly, sublimely appointed chamber

with 4 walls of padded

pink & orange-paisley-dragon silk

wrapped with ribbons of blue sage

this will bind you both

to this moment

where

in this moment

you can turn it all around

before it's too late

is it ever too late ?

shove aside pride & ego & your worm-hole of doubt

love has faith & fireworks

smells of

cinnamon vanilla & feels like flannel on

a winter night

before it's too late

promise me you will try & burn the candle bright

clasp hands & jump into the fire

love will heal your wounds, mend those scars & brighten your days ....

youth will linger & stay

here, drink this . paisley-dragon nectar ,,,,,

now ....

hold tight and

make of your love a bowl of sweet-secret cherries

forgive all & remind  ,,,,

you will last.

it is never too late ,,,,