somedays the blue jay is quiet
my throat constricted
walled against the joy i know resides in my belly
tight as a folded rosebud in spring
my throat constricted
walled against the joy i know resides in my belly
tight as a folded rosebud in spring
somedays the blue jay is quiet
narrow & small
pasted to the back corner pocket
a particle of pink agate
tucked -- trembling with the less-than
stillness tumbling in sorrow's shadow against the day
somedays the blue jay is quiet
no breeze to rock the branches of the hackberry
no acorns falling from the oak
no robins waking to dawn
just an empty aching echo
grayness falls into my corner
draping its felted electricity over old bones
clutching,,,,wrapping tighter
it transforms to feathers
somedays the blue jay is quiet
no breeze to rock the branches of the hackberry
no acorns falling from the oak
no robins waking to dawn
just an empty aching echo
grayness falls into my corner
draping its felted electricity over old bones
clutching,,,,wrapping tighter
it transforms to feathers
and i fly
no need to sing when all the words become the sky
...so beloved by the universe
no mortals here can compare
