fledgling

beneath the white birch tree
winged creature blue ... still & grim
aura of sun fierce
captured within

offered up as a gift--a question hangs
its random relevance veiled
gamma rays ferris wheel overheard
the answer burns to a tale

undone
the white birch calls
where a downy sacrifice bleeds
blue as remembrance
fragile as campanula
something is given
as innocence is
retrieved

underneath

i
use to
have to

trim & fold
tiny pieces of fabric
                     paper
                     forgiveness
                   
press hold mold
colors
lines
moved from mind to page
and back again
tracing
erasing

white on white

create
creation
making
maker
of
art
boiling rising unfurling
in waterfall torrents
to tame
that wild
petaled
hollow marigold
where does she reside on the quiet days?
... the unanswered days?
where is the spark of divinity's calling?
in what corner does she rest?
on what branch does she lay stretched to sun & gods gravity?

i will be surprised.

come with me ...

we scramble most days
to attach our wings of weighted feathers:
glistening violet under the sun
not awake, not yet asleep
but
somewhere in-between
dazed by days unremarkable
dumbstruck by the outline of the others rich & carouseled
how we stand in the in-between with love & grace is the test
how we shoulder those warrior feathers
in spite of
because of
tempest & frost
wind, welter & stillness
hush little baby don't you cry 
we rise
most days to vastness
to find our solace in midnight's
iridescence