shy in the light

Deep the cut
of invisibility's fate
too long the night
too much blood escaped
from wounds long shadowed in despair's corner pocket
surprise comes with a price
to be seen
uncloaked to sorrow's chord
choking on tears of impossible weight
tonight seen, held in attention's grasp
shy in the light

becoming luminous 

to become day

I wake
rising from a nest of flannel with angles & sighs
to the ordinary rituals of
greeting
the
darkness with unremarkable chores
performed with the discipline of a
rancher in winter
coffee warming to boiling
sky dark and unfolding
there is a draped stillness here
before the birds wake
before the dome of sky turns hazy iris blue
molecules scattered by promise or portent
soft the morning comes
languid magic of color & form
the oak suddenly distinguishable against the day
dimensional and quivering in a slight breeze
cooling chill of dawn
I wake
moving in ministrations of a tender worship
of breath and
reverent appreciation of now
fire warming
coffee transforming
waking becomes remarkable against the surprising whiteness of sky
here captured by the texture of wool to weather
skin to bone
life to the quiet patience of December
to become day

the duality of light

it doesn't matter if you loved me
it doesn't matter if you used me
it only matters that you saw me
in spectrums crystal clear

because the truth is you showed me
how possible it was to love me
light & shadows souvenir 

knowing we hurt
knowing we burst
masked to the rest of the world
knowing we tried
outside the lines
inked promises unfurled

it matters that I loved you
it matters that I held you
a secret mystery
it matters we broke rules
it matters we wrote rules
defending our misery

pseudonyms change
rules stay the same
words on a page
roles we stage
can not deny
the flame in our lives
parts made of stone
sparks in our bones

you became home

chrysalis held
treasured--felt
parts woke
unbroke

edges smooth
hollowing cooled
gifts of love held close
truth unveiled
compassion prevails
changes deep within heart's burn
softening tempest--truth turned
love path's sojourn

every chapter holds a story
how beautifully wicked we learn
every passage has a secret
the key knowing when to turn it
wisdom opening to hold it 

to stars we return

waking

having a body has always felt so alien
as if a colt were dropped into the moon
not knowing where colt and moon begin and end
both luminous and ungainly
an inherit awkwardness with skin & bone
why I've dreamed the taste of wool & stone

heart.
this heart
is
familiar
green & fluttering
     bound by tides & winds
to beat thrum beat to some ancient song
from the lips of aubergine pearls
birdsong girl

what strange creatures we are to think
   and be
connecting not connecting dependent on the fractal structure of stardust
so fragile we seem to be
yet
we are wondrous--
a colt dropped into the moon

this body
this heart of Sun

the sun as it hides at dawn

the light of this morning breaks across the rooftops opal-pale-blue
a new day unfolding with the open promise of birdsong
crisp whisperings
woolen truth tied to wind & white
morning, oh morning!

dawn

dark

i am night

pervasive infinity beckoning to what we can not see
beyond
between
this black
this night

elevated longing for unexpected galaxies
owning the moon
pressed to stars and comets

daylight ... makes me weary

stretch

i have a remarkable ability to remain very present while at the same time traveling east in a direct
air-current line to where you are to sit in the warmth of your breath to inhale the very same air that you do while maintaining the illusion of presence and attention to all the things requiring said presence and attention as i lean upon the maple just outside my window feeling the harsh coarseness of its bark against the thin paper fragility of my skin and soul i can be tethered upon this land this life long enough to weave a coat from the tendrils of mind and memory tracing tracing back to you back to us and that day that you remembered remembered that we were always leaning one upon the other water to polaris fruit to hand board to nail ship to sea surrender to hollow skin to bark
amidst the smell of leaves burning hearts yearning hands leading souls all souls fly away to the point of ignition with light transfixed by the play of shadow and sun upon the very same maple's leaves turned to saffron sunshine cooling cooling to the march of winter's breath stay with me
stay. with. me.
here against that solemn dusty bark stripped of clothes and artifice and possibility

healing becomes a promise of illusion's hour 

pieces

give voice to the basement children
wounded pieces ferocious & furrowed
mouth taped shut
deep cuts
song silenced
banished to the nevermore
cornered & caught
sixty year war

these words

ink out the tempest
soothe the fire
rearranging--twisting the collide of desires
defining friction
with
labyrinthine burrows of dark benediction

where is the brightness?
where the bloom?

here
here .... come away from the blight
come to the warmth of vast open light

here

at long last ... seen
colors
masks
moonlight obsidian
flannel diamond expedition
parched quantum fission

these parts weathered each moment with all that they knew
these parts named--ordained in a Breakfast Club coup

long may you rumpus! long may you rest
wounds unburdened in my storybook quest 

Castanea

spiny burr
clustered on the branch
tufted husk of pale armor
guarding the cream upholstered flesh
softness smooth
grooves adhered tight to pellicle
gentle pressure popping free
one, two, three
sweet fruits to hold
of
umber rich revealed
seed to ripeness
outside
to
in
spine to furrow
hard to smooth
captive youth

bargain

This part:

spins words to tales to treaties bent
dappled in velvet homage to birds and the moon
giving weight to the quantum miasma thru dappled light
be still
be still
the blue jay becomes the shadowdancer
waking the sun 

the fabric of night

see me as vermillion
locked with a tiny key a thousand years old
tarnished
tempered
by wind & water rising, rising

press me to cerulean between arms of sage & milo
smelling of yesterday's storm
penny-copper sharpness
bright
bold

I am a first snow
where
the
earth that lies between the cracks in the sidewalk
baked by sun
mysteries golden in particles of glass--dust
tarnished
tempered
by wind & water rising, rising

rain falls
on a plum tongue waiting for a cotton memory

and
a pillow

skin coral-pink bells of pulsing weathered molecules
ozone of ash & death
life trembling
tarnished
tempered

feel my azure evergreen shimmer against your thigh
slight--open
to line & moonlight
rising, rising

see me as vermillion
there amongst the night

A Perfect Day

some moments I miss the consumption
the hollow contracted sternum to heart
the encompassing obsession of
you

or

is it the miss of the velvet mantle I wove myself
of your hands and bold honey words...
replete with all I know to be true;

fireflies & willow trees
Kipling
Cather & Fitzgerald
whisky & wildfires
marshmallows
rivers
clean sheets & poetry

the rich fullness of everything

does it matter?
this ache...

more than likely
this is life

smelling of petricor & night

luxurious emptiness cradled in heat
and all I know to be true
red bird's bones & love songs

tell me, is there any more left?

lingering in the corner pocket of summer's grass
I loved you the first time I saw you
sticky delight of waning twilight
wild we found it - tamed it became
as we held to convention's fable
pressed in startling intimacy to the bind
oh!
letting go is easy when the heart is home

now as the blue jay's bones become my own

uk

the blue jay's bones have become my own
tied with curly willow & regret
with a fisherman's knot
five hours 'til sunset this perfect September day
promise of flight
painted tender & light
upon the piercing tendrils
lifting lifting
beyond the falling night

peaches

three peaches sit upon the dining room table
waiting for something ....
four & twenty blackbirds?
plucked, frozen tender--a winter's secret
a peach crisp?
i heard recently that a true poet does not use images, photographs, pictures... art
that seems vapid somehow
damn, i am not a poet
as if i could write without fingers
or
the sound of this south-east breeze
to lay down words bereft of what it was that lead me here
here here here
i think i'll settle on the crisp
the birds won't settle down
no
three peaches sit upon the dining room table
tenderness
waits
      for
          something ....
for a landing
a invitation
a room with a view of our wabi-sabi
oven warming to 350
clouds obscure the sun
as does liberation's smoke
can you smell it from here?
the peaches, not the smoke from fires burn
ooh sweetness rising
to
blue jay's summer passing
stolen naps with hundred year old quilts wrapping
time & traffic pressing in from windows dusty with choice

three peaches sit upon the dining room table
and
i am waiting for something

from a dream

The time she woke herself....

somnolent stirring of lash & limb
five thirty-two 

trembling with the weight of who she was 

with him 

echoes of blue jays--rain weary day 

stormclouds mask the dome of everblue
as 

love drifts away 

sureness lies bare 

exposed to this hazed light 

no lingering of his amber ghost remnants 

truth softens the night 

golden the moment 

intimacy's grasp 

holy the bind 

release the clasp 

awake to fire
'neath willow & briar
drenched in August
becoming the thunder...

after the perseids on the plains

eastern sun upon the curly willow
green to green
as blue jay song lines the rising
a cool breeze
wakens trembling soothes the summer haze
a marked stillness bridges
from here to there from there to here
time
wakens trembles soothes
shimmers in the green to green of day

# twenty-two thousand three hundred and twenty one

... and the day breaks in sugar-snap marigold brilliance
trembling in the divinity of wrens & robins
light breaks upon the hackberry white on white
masquerading green to glory
how can one breathe when this is all so breathtaking?
beautifully ordinary
how can i hold my place here amongst this shimmering life?
the earthworm finds respite on the sidewalk away from the robin's search
while rabbits dart from fern to root in moment's furrow
of place of breath of day
all this summer's feast beneath the bluing blue ocean of sky
a bluejay calls ...
and I am lost to feathered flight once more

July

it would astonish you how swiftly

one moment i am the gray wool blanket upon the sofa

next a
dust mote
caught in the sunbeam coming in from the west window
at 5 o'clock

next

a breath
shallow--weary

mind juggles the leaves on the birch tree along
with the blue jay feathers
i found
in the orchard this morning
as one hand held a watering can the other
curiosity

summer
transforms me

i am a smooth peach alive with wonder & fear
(in equal measure)
i am sky--clouds
memory & ash
i am everywhere

astonished

Stella to the blue

in the still quiet thrum of morning
all the words have been written
no revelation
no revolution
no eureka-thesaurus moment where words & time roll into the place of always
nothing but the early thrum of day dawning

morning

stillness

a breeze barely rocking the curly willow
ghost dog curled against my back--pressing pressing
tendered always
a sky carousel-blue...unreal in hand-dipped perfection

sunshine strikes my face
eyes close
here upon a weathered-dried-in-the-sun cotton quilt
in a cicada field green-summer-golden

morning

stillness

a breeze barely rocking the curly willow
a distant thrum from rivers wide
pressing

all the words have been written
there is no more than this ...

a bluejay sings its warrior song
claiming this piece of carousel-blue
always
Stella May June

datum

....given a different latitude & longitude
the drape of water might have felt different

given a certain tincture of contentment
there might have been time contained within the velvet box of us

given a moon phase reflected in amber & nobility
we might not be here now

perhaps there would be cake
or the repetitive lapping splash of tides

given riches or earth resplendent in darkness biding
sunbeams hiding
beyond the atmospheres of this golden field

would we be?
would we care enough to pause in the pace & space of our hours
to notice
the tightening recognition of the impossible

venus in gemini

of a June Morning . . . this morning
wrapped in the haze of promised storms

this morning

coolness
grayness

the fullness of birdsong fills my body with a trembling vibration
my blood becomes feathered
rising
rising
to
search for the sun 

when you open the hand that grasps

is it ever enough?

the lingering in the darkness?

what happens when you misplace the amber?
when one's own luminous light becomes enough to open...

the trope of letting go bleeds slowly across time
a mystery resin cured by loss & longing

is it ever enough?

the robin sings its forecast simple & soft
against the press of thunder & daylight
your goldenness is illusive
love's mystery recedes to the edges of my tongue

living with enough
brilliant the ring of fire
rich the day 

Alone

Pressed to the edges of the hedgerow
smoothed gesso'd field laid pristine in its awakening

Spring

heralds a whiteness born of shadows
birch tree lined
labyrinthine
to be lost is to found and lost again

here I remain
resolute

unyielding in my discomfort made blue
by this May Sky Morning 

self as girl

still
the girl in school who gets picked last
too tall
too skinny to be good or fast

at anything

listening to led zeppelin & csn&y
too much perfectionist to really know why

...to swing the bat
...to take a shot
discover a way to untie the knot

deep inside
perfection instant
too blond
too weird
and oh so much fear

knowing i had landed on the wrong planet
cat stevens & james taylor my constant companions
all the while peering over the edge of soul's canyon
playing at self & pseudo attraction
tidy & pink in lace pajamas
(tempting the wild, tending the fire)
serving kings & polar bears, little joe & yogi bear
listening to the whispered desperation of the lost & terrified
heart wrapped in glass & thorn'd armor pride

but right there, all along for all to see on heart's sleeve
silent
(everyone assumes apathy)
(emptiness)
(blue ice coolness)
it is a pounding feeling that trembles the earth
paralyzing
rising
tapping into something bigger--brighter--a shaky joyous mirth

is there ever a master plan?
is there a reason?

too much of everything
perfection the mask
resilience the game
not about who gets picked first at all
but who stands alone
with 

a pink lace pajama-heart & wildfire throne 

chartreuse & blue

swallowed I am
by chartreuse and  blue

awash
in these beams of day
sunlight streams to bones and qualling thoughts
becoming blue
becoming transparent green
holding holding
thrumming to the sounds of wrens & sky
shattering sorrow into a million tiny pieces
of
blue 

turn of the card

the crone's bones become my own

raven-feather-black as december's midnight 

no gradual mutation ... no

it is now 

this ancient hourglass impact 

a single cello plays somewhere to the west 

and 

I tremble at the quake of the redbud's leaves 

quixotic felted breath of breeze
upon skin freckled & creased
where in furrows hide 

regret, loss & redemption 

pale knots of celtic myth & mingle 

as prism'd comes the day
brittle the knowledge of sacrifice
buoyant the joy of love
in these crone bones 

May Day

the upheaval surprises
did not see the knot of this tangle
threaded of nettle & pine
able to hold the two strands apart
sand-bar in a stream
two strands not touching
contentment
and
the slightest cut of grief
as if we buried something precious & young
in a sand-bar .... in a stream
this upheaval
this tale
how weathered & unrequited
this is what it is like
this side
of the knot 

gray

Sitting
looking out the front windows to the south
tossing words carelessly around as I try and come up with something worthy
worthy of myself, worthy of your time & attention

You

my interior landscape is bleak
not cooperating in the least
words pinball thru mind;

carnal love, familia love, intimacy, knowing, trust, ease
truth
truth 

Outside

the wind shifts
suddenly lifts 
one of the dark motley gray branches of the oak tree
raising it from its resting place into a patchwork section of 
sky
and I see it

There

in the contrast of this smooth alice-blue sky 
against the tattered & mottled feldgrau of the oak

in the electric alchemy of two things;
the colliding line where energy brings like energy

the cosmic ouroboros completed

humans believe in their whole & their true
when myth & grace teach us blue

fragmented little beasties 

the hungry take  the shiny ones break 
glass upon stone 

together 
as intimate pirates
 ... and when the chains & pulsing tributaries of our soul recognize a smell, a song, a taste of another to 'sing the body electric' home where kisses taste of mandarin oranges & lavender and sex smells of lightening

Well
then...

Contrast alchemy;

there is no inch of skin too sacred, no word too tender or too wicked
it is the narration of a very individual story 
told in the contrast & collide of open hands upon warm waiting skin
it is the give & take
the surrender of self to take in
to fuck stars & dazzle your own soul with peace and presence and the unchartered understanding of another exhausted transcendence as it follows one steps back to self, to earth, where separation can be another set of contrasts; full to empty, happy to void, fractured to circled wholeness

the closer to the fire one stands, the more insane the remainder feels

Oh! 

and that becomes a rub 
...to pull the alchemy into your soul
allow it to shift awareness 
to lean towards life with more of everything

Ah! 
that thread becomes the axis
holding the thread becomes your being
your seeing 
to carry the connection thru to the ordinary hours becomes your religion

If you falter, let go 
well that is a dark companion that is hard to fight
hard to quell its stench and temper tight 

So hold on

let the silver & mercury 
mix with sulfur & gold 
allow the richness of knowing to cool against the dark
guard against the numbness 
staunch the flow of blood from that gaping wound 

the collide

That rugged line of gray against the smooth alice-blue 

Alchemy love. 

spring

rainwindwesterwild

         coming-coming-storm


                           b  l  o  o  m  

between the roof & blue

dappled sunlight
no warmth brushed upon gray bones
with a smoothness belying the dark
wind steeps the heart
to wild

sunlight
parsed into the folds of memory divine
tinkers with the edges
until they are worn thin
by love

in moonlight
I sit amidst the shooting stars
of galaxies unknown
knowing this is made
in breath & bone
to beam wild
this heart
home

Sunday at five o'clock

this here
expectation perched as a wren upon spring
stilled story written between the spaces of a day

this here
fingers tremble on words dashed
and
floating past as skiffs of sun

will I be happy when it's done?
will I be content with the measure & mirth
of this here

whiteness tempts with its swallows of time
sucking every numbed & nuanced line
of this here

will I respect the pause, the rhyme?

no

this here is bleeding out in vapid technicolor
its emptiness
metapoem
mettapoem

this here
is nothing or all
black is black upon this white page
beckoning with impossible lips of the wren's song

Spring's call

XCVIII

In April when yet seem'd it the winter still
proud Puck did wonder and play at his spring
white vermillion drawn in every thing
bird's pied-flowers heavy with sweet spirit deep
lily's pluck tell of figures hue
or they dress'd nor sweet and nor different
absent in you of the summer's shadow story
tell me, smell the odour of that sweet rose with a youth
as I did trim from you all the delight
nor yet have I been in the lap with these
that and them
hath I make him nor any that lays in the praise
laugh'd leap'd away from him where
they were but of you
they grew

could Saturn make your pattern of all those after you

Wisteria

It is the season of wisteria,
watching for a greening, emergent tendrils of twining stems violet.
Waiting,
it is the season for waiting,
watching,
listening to winds shifting from north, to south and back again.
Cool-warming in this season of waiting.
Wisteria mysterious spring spell-caster.
Your seed pods a purple bane bright against the sun.
It is the season for the duality of the greening, emergent
energy binding to winter's traces. Wind bracing comes
carrying dust & delight & dandelions in drifts of
greenish growing scents. Senses explode in the conscious
wait & wonder of the season of wisteria, watching the shadows of
the day dance
against the sunbeams of warmth, waiting, watching for
more.
Day dance, night entranced.
Conscious, curious expanding green,
demanding attention to the twining, the bine
of the bloom & the vine.
It is the season of wisteria.
It is the season of more.

drala

dancing upon my skin

dust motes bite upon cardamon bones 

jeweled glimpses of always

shadows 

light

the pace & breath of now:

yellow shirt

plaid mini skirt 

untucked hope
yearning to collide against 

1,440 minutes 

of 

summer's blossom 

sun thirsting

thunder bursting 

windows down

to Springsteen, Dylan, Taylor 

hand tucked beneath your blue jean leg 

forecasts a succulent promise 

your skin drips vanilla-nutmeg 

upon my tongue 

capture me for twenty-four hours 
new day in summer's heat 

lemonade cooling 

slow moving 

green grass wafting to welcome 

backs arched 

arms grasping 

breath barely lasting 

listening to crickets

under a firefly strawberry moon

we drink

we laugh 

we do

for 

every every 

sweep sweep sweep  

of the second hand

can we slow time's sweep?
can we cherish the sunbeam of breath deep?

before we know--molecules slow
the rising scent of earth & forecasted autumn rains

awash in apples crisp falling
calling the cooling 

cooling 

richness clasped to clary sage 

leaves they turn brown, red, gold
suddenly cold 

chilled to winter's gifts--

bracing wind to arms embrace 

snow leaves a trace 

falling 

falling 

to these 1,440 tick-tocks of Fleming's clock 

take in without clinging

taste all--celebrate touch 

collide beyond breath
-not asking much- 

these stolen daydreams 
shadows & light 
sun returns 
by
fires chance....

dance

finding Norma

between Cather's Later Novels and Scott's
Lady of the Lake
it rests in red
dog-eared 1954 Webster's New World
wanting to cheat the assignment and
open
to
dandelion 

that seems a simple benign thing

yet
I resist
and buy-in to the task
fast
I flick to
consubstantiality consultative consolatory cont.
page 316-317 Cs
being of a trinity--being an abbreviation for things in, without and to come
but it is the illustrations
one on each page square
white on black
CONSTELLATIONS 
(northern hemisphere)
(southern hemisphere)

lost

I become
from Piscis Austrinus to Ursa Major
Cygnus, Lyra and Cassiopeia
circling
orbiting
then back again sailing across printed blackness so captivating
Ophiuchus to Orion
Coronia Australis & Sagittarius
Phoenix to Hydra
but suddenly
there sits Norma

Norma

a small constellation in the southern hemisphere
lying between
Ara & Lupus
Ara--refuge
Lupus--wolf

breath stilled
am stunned a bit
as I am becoming my own refuge as a wolf these days
settling into the soft spot amongst stars & men
stripped of feathers & fear
opal magic is present in this morning hour of eight o'clock
amidst the birds & sun & red dictionary
this solitary sanctuary

Norma
the name of my mother
born this day in 1926

companion

somewhere between the risk & the rain
traveling down
palomino highways
replete with tambourines & woolen blanket red

fast faster fastest

fueled by awareness, apples & Antares
the Milky Way illuminates the night
drowning out the buzz of tilting plants & thunder
burned out & left in a million shallow graves
nuggets of dreams & leanings dot the blurred space between
marked by harvested fields, deer crossings & pinwheels

flying along on the ghost horse

flying

primal magic groundless & infinite
strength this constant accordion of movement
intention unspoken
we ride
until
we become
one
as the rain comes down harder making choice immediate
serenity fleeting as a glimpsed electric golden portal flashes
once, twice
defined & aligned with intent
purpose is murky & the way is overgrown with reeds of rust & linen
a mordant algorithm of aqua-depth & stars
purpose exists to be found or it is just a buckled paisley regret
the ride is relentless & the scope of beauty & possibility endless

time is everything & nothing

somewhere between pumpkin creek & morning
beneath a ponderosa pine we pause
wrapping the blanket & scent of night us about us

to wait out the rain

beekeeper's lament

gossamer thread worn thin-holds fast
beekeeper's gather by the hidden deer track
willow creek bends to the rising wind
over the hill--and back again

stretch a new canvas a thousand feet wide
pinned & buckled by snowy owl's cry
two broken barns it flies between
gesso'd white by flying machines

paint a landscape thick & true
inked with blood and certitude
fiddler plays long into night
when thunder comes--the fire burns bright

beekeepers & minstrels gather to flame
lovers & poets weave a gambled game
a path is taken, a fable begun
white-birch firelight & sunflower rum

spring's storm becomes the canvas--becomes midnight
plein air painting--blue-gray acolyte
frosted river echoes cranes descent
this glen-this tale-our beekeeper's lament

gossamer thread worn thin holds fast

beekeeper's dance



Mary Linnea Vaughan - artist

fledged burst of ....

Alacrity belongs cinnamon dulcet
eager filament given
holy incandescence
jumping knowing listening
murmurous
nevermore
of
prescribed
quickness
resonate
serendipities
turned
unshaken velvet wholeness
xenos
yielding...
zeal 

JSB

I should have known
as I did take note of the bold outline of each moment
stark--exact
the slender fragility of his body
the sharp tang of a hospital room
      its crisp sterility contrasted to night

we watched ER together

an episode titled 'Homecoming'
he really liked Dr. Greene

crawling next to him in the narrow bed
we lay pressed and still
the white waffle blanket was so stiff-starched
      its brightness such a contrast to the night

his legs were ice cold-so very cold
I love him so

still

that hole remains infinite
yet finite its missing

I don't remember driving room that night
but he died early the next morning
drinking coffee on the edge of his bed

just like that

      his love such a contrast to the hollow loneliness that shadows my days

...from the hackberry tree

There 
she sits 
within that box removed from weather & the weight of sky 
illuminated 
by an energy that I feel in wires strewn from pole to box to pole again 
about this street this town this place 
curious how much she thinks 
not knowing how observed she is 
we all watch 
we discern her wonder 
how much we know how much she sees and doesn't yet see 
what's that like--the taunt stretch of smoothness over bones 
the upright movement so deliberate & designed 
what is the objective to her days 
where does delight lie 
I think she is sad yet oddly content with that 
oh!  how she does take note of changes in our song 
in the color of morning 
in the approach of the coming storm 
this one spring dawn 

I think she would like my feathers 
and my freedom 

Helios

It enters without being asked
It is welcome regardless
It angles differently from every glass
It sits momentarily at 45°, 30°, 90°
It is always a moment by moment thing
It is relentless in its discipline
It is soft sometimes blinding sometimes reminding
It illuminates time illustrates seasons
It is all colors mixed
It will prisms just right
It is truly actually white!
It is energies wilding
It is streaming in brightening
It is life beguiling
It warms, it fades
Dawning Sun--Break of Day

7:58

breathless--ahhh 

so easily it consumes me
this heaviness I can not shed
weight draped upon my shoulders as a winter woolen cloak
smothering heaviness at every step
breathless
ridiculous
this machinery of being
electric rivers of wind
such play in the connection of morning to movement
to this intoxicatingly new april air
breathing
breathless
I am

so I will rest
rest & wait
for the warmth of this day to come

reyn

sweet this day done to dwell
tucked to corners break drawing close
sight unseen to wait to weight
poured as this golden one blew
to dun sun golden
suite no. 1 in e minor
oh wren!
oh site of mercy's blueness won
to blossom when once bloomed
squared
to spring's wind
in a thousand winding ways

this day

accendo cendere cendi censum

Crawling from the hollow
      below sternum
my heart creeps out to
weather alone
unseen against the backdrop of dark forgiveness
coyotes circle
enchanted by the odor of licorice & gravity
circling
circling
heart
       drops
to right hip
carried there by the remembrance of feathers, flight
      and
          disregard
pinching cinching between
green glass panes
and
the thorns of winter's if 
slowly slowly
dripping into the marrow of a raven's thigh
heavy the sharpness
throbbing the spell
coyotes circle
circling
heartbone
brambled
to
allow
the
burn

waking dullness

my cleverness is mounted over the bed like antlers
majestic curved & shocking
to some

while tucked behind the door to the bath
curls my genuine

hard to catch as it slips between
impersonating a dust bunny
and a spring moon

this morning
as a single eastern towhee sings upon the hackberry tree
the antlered cleverness drifted out the door and rolled west
apparently needing more winter
while this trickster uncurled itself from behind the door
and asked for a cup of ginger tea

its boldness surprises me
perhaps
no more
   than
its slender glimmer
its voice melodic & soothing
fierce shyness easing
into luminous blue

the tea steeping
its uncurled dusty-moon form shifts
once more--
a prism'd light of hyacinth
and a blue jay's song
waiting for tea on a friday at dawn

we are awkward & unsteady together
but we are
uncurled
and
waking to the quiver of brilliance

origin

sand--water moonstone born
strawberry feathered
irish lace sworn
arrowroot
meadowlark
captain kangaroo
oatmeal
books & clocks
gingham dress blue
richness drawn in roses briar
tomatoes stretched to summer's fire
hands that hold
longing told
while sorrow burns its hole
cigarettes
scotch-on the-rocks
velvet innocence
Kipling's equinox
tapped trimmed & tied
sacrifice tried
rocky mountain high
collide
survived to scars & brokenness
wholeness
found in emptiness
phoenix'd from ash
sand-water sworn
moonstone born

Skye

The rock rocking
translucent black cherry tangerine
paler
thinner
growing to burst upon verdant richness
shelled path
heather rolling
meadow-grass fields
primrose & helleborine
shetland mouse-ears
black rock
filament
suspension over dark river boiling
wilderness wildness disappears
Sgurr Fiona and the Corrag Bhuidhe of the An Teallach
he comes draped & known
of a name not my own
a winter wolf dark & burnished
moonstone
sternum cracked wide
Polaris lies inside
sweeping embrace of night's sky

so loved on this side
emptiness becomes the present crown
nothing ever to fear
abide Gallizenae
abide 

dry spell

indigo dipped
forgotten fragility in buffalo flannel
tucked and tattered to the nines
by this blustery relentless wind awake
now
eviscerated by Bosch dreams serpentined & threaded blue
who was I before this day how
did I relinquish myself to the whims of weather
and men
who was I before you
is there a before or just an after
where is the river to our place behind love's door

indigo dipped
wind stilled for now
for now
fuck the wind and the weight of grain and golden sun
I am born ruby apple delicious
complete
and empty
empty
except for these fractal particles of history and
love
love
ah, this wind
put it in your pocket--save it for a rainy day
moments like these gleam with drala and fates design
and
winds of change

raining now

miraculous how that changes
everything

Hollowing Things

One awaits the break of day in the quietest of houses where there is a lack of love, imagination and hope. Birds begin to awaken but their chirping songs bring only an interruption from a daydream of
mountains and majesty.  From somewhere to the west a dog barks in a lonely way. The coffee has grown cold and I am already too weary to walk to the kitchen for more.

No word from him and I am oddly fine with that.

A harsh winter has left the ground raw and brown. It will take some effort to find spring.

I miss carrying the smallness of him from room to room searching for ninja turtles and scary things. Longing to be somewhere I'm not.

These pants have holes.

Waiting for eight o'clock to make a dreaded call. Birds sing, morning dawns along with a forecast of
storms. I don't care.

I long for a nap upon a mountain, I long to carry him with me as we walk beside a river warm.
I will always remain even when there is no word.

The sun hides behind layers of haze and clouds.

morning

In the pre-light hours of day
unwrinkled & still
comes the first spark of joy
chatter
and
chirp
of one then two
followed by multitudes waking
robins, wrens, gold finches, cardinals & crows
greeting
communicating
in their ancient bird tongue
the chorus rises in the brightening
sparking joy in their audience of us humans

who wish for feathers

all objects rise vertically from the horizon

holding two things in hand
simultaneous
palmed and present
sapphire--marigold
apple--stone
anger--open
joy--bone
of weight and measure
discernment's cost
empty the field
meager the crop
lean to the lonely
rise to the sky
become the sorrow
become the cherry pie
holding two things
mercury--sage
symmetry's requiem
velvet cage
swift flies the sparrow
reflexes fast
sun in your pocket
tender contrast
sapphire--marigold
apple--stone
anger--open
joy--home

attente

don't know when it happened exactly

~ which hour of which day ~

the palatable exubruance & thirst for sun 

gave way 

to a lament for the moon

my movement
my being 

my hours 

spent 

in 

quiet unruckus'd preparation
for 

ducks-in-a-row clarity 

corners cleaned of cobwebs 

piles of life linear with logic 

dust swept devotedly 

from the totem objects of my accumulation 

flannel smooth
moonlight quickening 

tassels trimmed & pressed 

set free from lingering gypsy dreams

as if

should the wind be just right from that place of sun 

well then ... 

everything will be

as if 

I was never here 

or maybe 

my departure will come with
no burden
no adjustment 

or maybe 

I am just merely passing thru
pausing here

as if
waiting

for 

just the right 

wind 

advection

dawn's cooling

ground
moist with dew
neighborhood streets fill with the fog
of a possible sun
open portals
to
anywhere
while trees tremble imperceptibly in their worship
of
sky
and
day
shadows tucked in the back of a blue jay's throat
gray and timeless
gray and ageless
light begs for admittance into this morning's kingdom of clouds

this moment
vaporous magic
transparent

possible

of sixes & sevens

I lost my anger in the corner pocket of table six
or maybe it was in june of '68 ... in the red cadillac on the way to the parade
better to be invisible under stars & wooden desks
than to be seen for a creature dressed
in cyan & tattered sensitivity
able to absorb sunlight at a rate greater than or equal to
the speed of light
I am forgetting my mother's middle name:
Elaine

anger was eaten with violets for breakfast in june of '68
just after my mouth was washed out with soap for saying "shitshitshit"
merely imitating the song of meadowlarks eating violets for breakfast
Elaine

Elaine
give to me your feathers & your strength
your wit & whiskey-wisdom orange paisley'd
smelling
of pine & sunshine & tomatoes

I lost my anger curled up behind a sofa at midnight
wearing flannel pajamas & watching the world in black & white
roll past
on a radio flyer
sunshine me home life oh life
sunshine me home to the corner pocket of table six
touch my cheek
Elaine
Elaine
I am my mother's name

coyote of the cactus moon

While she was somewhere being free
of unremembered skies and snows
of petals from some magic rose

no regrets coyote!
my tears are like the quiet drift
she was somewhere being free

while the sun is ascending
for eternity
of petals from some magic rose


she only means to please them
all my grief flows from the rift
while she was somewhere being free


in the middle of nowhere
there's no comprehending
of petals from some magic rose


so tremulously like a dream
it would crumble
while she was somewhere being
free of petals from some magic rose

The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky

weighted gray morning
haze dims edges hard line
north wind warning
cottonwood's silent anodyne
no translucent moon
no sun rising bright
merely this quiet room
waking from hollow's night
Sisyphus these hours
these minutes to spend
pushing hopeless ivory towers
uphill to life's end
tick-tock strikes twilight
goodnight

one day

in the afterglow of the remove
in the silence of simmered things
after
nine hundred & twelve days
a blackbird came calling
what season was it?
winter with frost thick upon old glass windows?
are blackbirds here come winter?
what was the air like?
was it the neutrality of spring, not cold nor warm but laced with storm's forecast?
blackbirds are thick in spring
falling
not the hot closeness of summer
not the smell of apple-pressed-autumn
falling
winter or spring then
or some undiscovered season
perhaps
one that belongs to the lost and found
and blackbirds
calling
fallling
a tumbling bite/bliss declared submission
landing
to self
a rounded larimer blue self
quivering to darkness & light
what damn season was it?
brightness of day illuminating
innocence transforming
seen
heard within the
faceted amber understanding born of...
ah! spring!
with its forecast of thunder & surrender
spring then
a blackbird calling
calling
falling
into
diamond-blue-self
discovered
uncovered beneath the translucent sinking moon of morning
tell me blackbird

why do I remember this hour so?

the how of finding self in the debris of self on a monday in april

Sit be still and breathe while sinking to earth rising to sky breathe allow the body's contrast the mind's ramble breathe the vastness of this day the blue the gray sit be still with the pain and trauma of your thousand years sit don't turn away from the sting of despair listen to its tremor feel the pressure of its rip breathe and sit know you are safe know you are full of the world know your own significance is greater than your trauma sit with hurt insight ripens  compassion drifts in on the breath buds of understanding bloom violet breathe know trust breathe discover the joy in seeing without adornment presence without confusion self without shame you are more than your trauma the blue the gray ten thousand marigolds bursting forth from your heart more than breath and bone and bruise breathe sit and risk the knowing open to the song of spring's birds at dawn open to the glow of this morning sky and depth of day open and be home 

diamond amygdala . . day #30

* i remember what it's like to be a child when your world is azure & possible.  creating tiny worlds with tiny hands pony-tailed shiny one, running in fields, running in rivers, running as wind in May, feeling alien, feeling special & wonder-filled, feeling the touch of my father's hand, touching the sun, diving into every story, diving into summer's water, exploring every crack in the pavement, cowboys & indians, ready or not, here i come

* i remember … mountains.  the scent of pine filling me, lifting me with purpose & home, knowing the mountain was inside me . . creating a rocky, stone-strength, a god-force of sacred connection to stars, earth & wild iris.

* i remember what it's like to be crazy, so fucking crazy that i didn't know if i was staying or going, alone, apart, broken or together with clothes all matchy matchy & hearts all matchy matchy and there, there that little gorgeous baby-girl-child is depending upon me - depending upon me for everything but mostly for love love love is a many splendid thing but why am i so empty and low & hollow & alone & where is everyone going and what will i do here without them without them without them and stop me from crawling upon my hands & knees to hide under the desk.

* i remember what it's like to be whole.  when every shadowed corner is filled & sparkling with diamonds, suspended in timeless fragility, as my heart petals open - exposed to elements organic & true, smelling like an azure childhood, tasting like
crazy
iris-honey & you . . 

enough

of haven & hazard
herion & home
blue sky brightness tucked to shadows weight
fortune's wheel
turn of fate
what havoc wrung from stars & clementines
while intimacy burrows its seed beneath the tremble
my skin belongs to your skin
yet my bones are my own
foraged white by fire & river stones
you are my addiction
and
my indifference
pledged to gravity
born of grass & tenderness
beneath a prairie night sky a thousand years ago
a thousand years bound to moon & mallow
magic & myth
regret lies heavy as a black walnut's thigh
pressed between the pages of letters & mercury
silver cooling
warmth enfolding
holding two truths within the sparrow's nest

extinguished

i step aside--into the corner of this waking dream

surrendering all sense of line

allowing my captive self to linger 

voracious--blurred by shadowed edges grey

intent upon the breaking of the glass mask and tower walls

no weave of fabric holds

no structure 

you circle my breath

following the maze of electric borealis 

as the mandrake bores into the damp earth of waiting 

deep
deeper
deepest
base of spine 

touching 

the blending fuck of scorched souls arching into this mandarin moment

pressed and open 

hanging taunt with hands upon my back

chaos melts

fractal light bends into the surge of heat and saged ache 

quiver
tangle 

hold
hold 

holding

for the wash and rush of sacred water over the tattered silver edges 

from my corner 

i quietly watch--blinded by the collide

quenched by broken delight

winter white intimacy 

Late Winter Mourning

How
pressed and flat these days
how tight the mask of sun
while moon becomes
cold
the panes weighed down by a hopeless crown
while longing for the scent of Spring
this linen drapes loose
tattered wind takes the thread and lifts it to heaven's promise
nevermore to dance among stars & lovers
yet
yet ... what wonder lies in the lavender hours

wind out of the south

I am ok with the letting go
I am just fine with the things I know
and don't
turning back to that winter day
turning back to the things I didn't mean to say
and did anyway
I tighten the thread across the miles
I loosen the knot just once-in-awhile
to find
everything unwinds
allowing in just a little blue
a little light in which I see you
that amber way
as if it was just yesterday
I can't tell where I begin
where I end and where I bend
I unfold
opening to the vast unknown
feathers of cranes and river bones

in the midst of chaos

i dream of flight and
my name
called by a cranberry voice
gone
a woodpecker peers in thru the frost to observe
the morning tea & tempest
brewing ghosts & blue skies
waking waking
emerging golden to greet the day
inhale the scent of fire & emptiness
what rhythm to each step?
what breath to measure the weight of glory?
ahh to expand the tolerance of despair
become my crimson feather'd spine

Oh day!

Do you see yonder ....

This morning
as the light grew
soft
pink-hazed to cool winter sky--
frost
lay thick thick as stone upon our 1936 windows
ice crystals awaiting their glazed scry
trapped against the dawn
and this
crisp
biting morning
what secrets revealed
what promise unfurled
in the trails of prism'd frostwork
abstract layers of frozen dreams & prophecies
paused & pressed

suddenly
it is hours later
and the sky is the palest blue
the sun shines
and the frost has vanished
no trace
no revelation
no foretelling

only
shine