when listening to the sound of your voice

 blue sky 

a goddamn sun so bright 

the white

of the snow stuns 

cardinals drip into lemondrops 

bewitched by daydreams & two o'clock 

it happens 

the tumult of delight 

the snap of cold against images trimmed in velvet birds 

i am here 

a feathered & shadowed thing 

bright 

and smelling of spring 

mid-december

    the way snow falls always has made me cry 

who thought of that? 

that it should glide downwards in direct ratio to the wind & white 

slanted rhythm of day following night 

transforming warmth to cold 

soft to hard yet soft still 

but oh so biting in its relentless knowledge 

how to forgive the unforgivable 

how to muster the courage for another day the color of quiet 

how to hold the light & the blue of age 

   the way snow falls 

press your hand against the glass & feel the sharpness 

cooling blood lost in the labyrinth of trying 

how slow muscle talks to bone these days 

how hollow seems the heart 

yet how bright the fire 

    the way snow falls 

surrender

 just a jittery tremble in the branches of the apple tree 

naked of leaves 

stark against the morning white 

snow makes everything sharp 

cold brilliant wakefulness 

trapped & succumbing to a moment 

dropped lemons upon the floor 

evermore 

archer

amber'd ghost of the shallow river and moonlight confessions 
preferring the mask to the vulnerability of love

touched by the deepness of blue and the shutter of a thousand suns

you run

bound by regret that wells the dam, breaks bones

and 
pierces the heart of the wild

dear fire inside ....

polishing the rocks 

tumbled & divine 

the dress was silk-raw-lichen green 

movement directed by moonbeam 

one + one = one 

undone 

drala is strong here 

but dharma weakening against the sun 

press repeat 

to taste the honey 

folded enfolded felted fire spun 

no ground 

we are sky 

undone 

Cartesian Casting

our goodness disguises itself
as a hesitant trembling
A-421.6Hz
bound to marrow and memory
surer than this first snowfall

or

the weary grief poised upon regret's edge

no doubt in the fear we are not enough

incomplete our box of paints
unfinished our sculpted stories

imperfection and debris create the amber
feel the whirling diadem of your existence
here
in this first 
snowfall

in and of

timeless enfolding

syncopated rhythms of petaled forgetfulness 
oh!

how we turn inward while turning outward
to sun
to the violet edges of linen old
crinkled clasping of celadon-hope to breast full-striving
for that sulfur spring
while doubt circles disguised as stardust 

we loom fierceness with hands leaning in

how can we tender to such persimmon fragility
while soothing our own feathered fear & bones?
holding in fractal spaces 

defined by
lips pressed to peach skin pressing protection white white

lean in
lean in 

to love in all it's brilliance
to the cutting sorrow path
lean in

remembering

rooted in coriander 

falling 

falling 

the bursting orange & yellow of this day 

presses tight against some boundary 9° removed from blue 

yearning to feel anything but the hollow 

i

surrender 

and fall amongst the debris of stars 

you. are. here.

 This vantage point is 42° into the goldenrod 

still able to see the blue but no longer enveloped 

nor can I taste its marmalade 

my tongue dry now restricted by my settling 

or it could be just the smoke 

- pink haze drifting into the oak trees 

as blue jays tuck into the stillness of morning 

I like this quiet 

this new place that feels a bit solitary 

but lined with a mercurial seeing that 

makes everything 

mine 

2020

to not know the things we don't know
unconscious unconsciousness
masquerading as politics
doubled down to blue to black to brown
place my money on lucky number 3
where
intent lingers unchecked unopen unremarkable
uncoupled ignorance masked naively as an unplowed field
goldenrod trodden
thistle tall and forgotten
overgrown mythology of our milky way
buried in the linen bones of neural falls
white blinding
haunting truths unveiled
soul's courage outlined in the palm of a hand
arrows shame precisely seeping into that fallow land
water with tears tendered from a million suns
seed, ponder rebirth
for what it's worth
and
the
glory of a planet yet to rise ....
one, two, buckle my shoe
cry for the many
unearth the dream 

unbuckle the carpetbagger from his paper throne 

rise up 

rise up oh you wondrous ones! 

Fides

Blogs and words and blood that binds
trust that leaves the world behind
I've scattered dust into the sun
and traded love for my souls tongue

We fight and rage in civil wars
hell-bent to stand above the killing floor
trust is thick--a coin with two sides
and pity the fool who blindly abides

We seal our fate--lock the door
and discover we don't know love anymore
instead we are hollow of possible light
but holy our war and righteous our fight

To parry and thrust with ego aloft
judgement we weld while honor is lost
narrow is the path and treacherous the lie
only to find the godlight has died

Winter's full moon outlines the cost
each tale unfolds with perspective tossed
until we acknowledge loves color and might
with trust as its cord that weaves all in tight

So stand in the fire or beyond its rage
but either way play on kaleidoscopes stage
trust, love and light--the scout-badges you seek
not hate not ego or vintage treasures keep

Bows and flows of angel hair. . .
two sides exist in everywhere

day to night

preference to dust & the carnival masks 
the tatters of summer & billows to mast
mercurial children of moon & chiron
indigo magic kneeling at dawn

smelling of fire & sex at high-noon
we search for trails to our velvet brigadoon
uncovering silver & sorrow in sand
only to find it there in your hand

a hand that is slender & wisdom weld
a hand willing to serve others well
a hand recalled in the darkest of dreams
a hand parting the veil, piercing the gleam

so we find that path outlining the tender
Psyche & Eros collide in surrender
reality limits only the day
by night we soar hand in hand in the fray

preference to dust & the carnival masks
the promise of snow & vinegar glass

the seven of cups thrown at the door
moonlight evermore

river

river runs past corn stalk acres reached traipsing prickled wooded banks 

sandy ribboned channels cuts through this prairie summer 

water ankle-murky-deep 

freshwater winding rushing low cool water washing 

surrounds skin sun-warmed to tan

freckled sky open cloudless blue wide 

childhood current's respite felt languid amongst the swirl 

freedom's call to wild 

August

Wind blows tart 
sharply
pressed between strawberry longing at a quarter to cloudy
while
heat falls in tapestry-branched curtains heavy 

     with forgetfulness
the width & span of a thousand years
Will the peaches come on Sundays
     as they have before you were born?
What day is it?
                       Wednesday.
Medallions of lions tattooed along my thigh
itch from the sting of an orange wasp
forgetting the vastness of cone-flowers & yard chickens

The wind promises autumn the way stars promise dawn

all bets on the moon 

Time sharpens the lines 

blurs the marrow 

poured into the mystic of morning . . .

leave no trace

stillness a shadow
bluejay brings grace
warm winds
break across my face
sun darts to weeds & waiting bones
slow down
return me home

love burns like skin when out too long
nothing remains by four
but
the wind
      and the something more

stillness a tremor
stillness a light
warm winds
against the white
sun too hot
day too long
slow down
summer's song

smells like rain

the jarring road
the blue sky
the wind
the sorrow
the rhythm of this day carves birds from my bones
     and they fly they fly
becoming the morrow

I am of dust and sweeping grasses green
the passage of clouds
sky a blue I've never seen

the humming 

the buzzing 

all around all around 

sweat sticky & nectar sweet 

(apparently) 

wildflowers yellow as far as the eye can see 

the jarring rattling road 

the bluest sky 

the ceaseless wind 

the hollow sorrow 

the rolling rhythm of this day widens my heart 

     and it beats it beats 

becoming the morrow 

to hold this course 

to raise the hope 

chase the dream of something wider 

something vaster 

something beyond the grasp 

becoming the wind 

becoming the hollow 

becoming the humming 

becoming the sky 

becoming the blue 

in july at two o'clock

this place
hollow
full
all things at once
both sublime & jagged
as the break of a bone across the expanse of the night
does heartbreak make a sound
when there is no one there to feel it?
and why does broken seem unbroken?
hollow not hollow
in the distance there is a humming
low & constant
or is it a pulsing--a tempo I can not keep pace with

regardless
butterflies come to the milkweed and the thrumming becomes
the speed of light 

amazing

moths &  dragonflies
dust & vinca vines
sparks of yesterday beneath my rubber heart
perched like meadowlarks upon the barbwire of night
here where the sky forgets forgiveness
oh better days where are you hiding?
there along the tree line of the river wide?
move the rock & shift the sand--find the gold
scrape away the top soil of the field & return the bones
there are better days somewhere tucked below the stones
moths & dragonflies
dust & vinca vines
sun, moon & stars guide me to the sliver lining

the topography of missing

somedays
a salt flat
white as a blank page
flat - wide open primal plain
dusty & surreal
with a dome of vast blue
horizon to horizon
marked
by chem trails & echoes & thorny things
my presence a shadow
upon time
somedays
a lush prairie rolling
smelling of summer golden
somedays
the stone that lies in a river
polished & weary
somedays
nothing extraordinary
becoming ordinary when pressed between the layers
of you 

of May ...

Baltimore Orioles visit the hackberry tree now

surprising the shadows
with its vermillion joy
stealing purple from the sky
sometimes the wind blows the branches so
tumultuously that the world shimmers green
a thousand shades verdant & conscious
seeking the sun 

before

there was once
everything
tucked between blades of grass
small worlds teeming
the smell of the cosmos brought to bone
riding on one inhale
lodging behind your heart
the sun
warming the day that lies before you like cherry kool-aid
no damping the
everything
with
shame
shame comes later on long legs & captured birds
regret tastes of open roads & momentary forgetfulness
a summer promise of daisy-chains & blue

now
we dig deep below the soil--below the skin
to tap the current of knowing
we should have gone there years ago
tapped the root of truth below the surface
ate of the fruit with relish & owning

shame has two sides

blades of grass hold the whispered secrets
come ~ lie with me here and taste the madness of this world

this day
before it is too late

redemption

I dreamt the contrast
of light against the shallow
containers of life pressed and chalked to buildings shadowed
tightness and expansion folded into the transparency of being
I am a jellyfish
both enchanted by myself & repulsed
changing to fit into the mold provided by my captors
freedom carried in an overnight bag
smelling of yesterday & you
dust lies thick as fear
yet
generosity steeps in lavender tea left to capture the last rays of a sun
too oft forgotten
power lies in the open fields beyond the stars
beyond this dust

spring fever

somnolent and sullen I've been
awaiting my elixir
perfectly portioned to numb the limbs of trees
and wings of songbirds
the ancient doorknob falls apart in my hands as I enter
the space between here and there
gold to grain
gathering milkweed and goldenrod from the river's edge
while the world burned
turn down the bed
turn up the volume of Dylan and The Band
sit here with me and watch the shadows become

sit here with me
still and poised upon the hands of every-time
too trite
too right
the breeze off the water wakens

chills the
bones and the wings of songbirds
changing transforming aging
creating still
breathing still
do you smell the smoldering of Spring?
do you hear the rush of the weary?
after the cooling
where will we rest?
amongst the cottonwood and warrens of rabbits and fox
tall grasses dance
and become

it is what it is

there is a trembling to my sternum
cacophonous and startling
like a bird trapped
against the wire
there is the sky but I can not touch it
feathers singing to a moon tucked upon the cusp of highway
sun lies
love dies
there is no warmth
merely a shadowing of clouds to the density of winter
trembling trembling
I feel you there brushing against my shoulder like a ghost
there is a depth
terrifying--tight
narrowing to spring's promise
delight hides from eyes accustomed to the dark
there is a trembling to my days
cacophonous and startling
in their hollow
like a bird trapped
there ....

epoch

a blueprint?
or a veil to your days
as
you are to mine--
do you listen to Radiohead wailing to the new moon
or do you sip tea amongst colleagues draped in sanity
pretending wholeness?
are you filled with whiskey or love
here in these dark times
pressing pressing
against the bark of trees to hear their prayer?
tell me ...
is there measure & merit
cheer & choirs of dormant bees
how far do you see without me?
are horizons wide and outlined in violet-blue?
are winds fierce and smelling of summer?
take the ink and trace the line of rivers to
the January moon and back again
pressing pressing
a blueprint or a veil?
perhaps
both ... as it once was it remains
arms open
to sky
and
stillness

new moon dawn

this rosy morning sky
filling the horizon beyond the ams of icy trees
beyond the stillness of rising
along these quiet streets
snow rests in corners & shadow parts
pulsing with cold & luminous light
Oh Winter ... your days are numbered
yet you grasp so the bracing cold of the hidden sun
this rosy morning sky

звезды

Domed days under herculean skies
stepping, counting, bending days
striving for aqua-puzzled-reason
nights shading, dripping into indigo
as faith's trajectory shifts to a new meridian
soul seeks nourishment from stars
and
the unexpected conversation
Healing lies therein:
circini, corvus & circus trains
compassion's permeable
boundaries spiraling
to
the open arms of night

first quadrant of the northern hemisphere

the tips of my bird-bone-fingers graze dense clouds upon ascent
curling the rosemary held between worried lips
expanding the spaces between knots & knuckles
to climb away
back to deep sky
back to the secret firefly
oddly positioned within the white rose cluster of night
rising rising
bracing against the chill of January
feathers full & trembling
ice forming on lashes dipped in ink & mercury
armored in stories of brilliant yellow
to climb away
back to shadow's light
solitary and not
dull and sharp
still and symphonic
shallow and deep
once within it becomes my gentle bones
to climb away
back
home