Wednesday, November 13, 2019

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


Sunday, November 10, 2019

at six o'clock

i took a glass of bourbon from the flame
and threw it to the moon

waxing gibbous
96% luminous

spell cast
conjuring
conjuring
holdfast

there now
we are here
now
the other side of missing smells of snow forecast
pink twilight calling night
Joni playing looping unmoving
there now
we are here
now

there is no ache
no yearn
no burn
for that golden field

the thread remains
longing wanes

becoming a glass full of the smell of leaves burning
waiting to be sipped with long-eared owls & secrets
sharp
tine is wasting--waiting
can you taste it on the back of your tongue?
ahh ... you still taste me

throw it to the moon with a glass of bourbon at half past six

conjuring the other side of missing



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

Thursday, November 7, 2019

Now November

We
unpack our words
measuring the white space between
in sighs & numbness
threading truth to dreams as stars to night
what longing remains is scattered

now November
we amuse ourselves with what was
adapted
compacted lives rich
yet without the burn
what longing remains scattered
found in sky and moon
dust and entrails tossed
captive fortunes told in leaves and ash
smelling of autumn's smoke

eternal passage granted
rising
rising

what longing remains is scattered