midnight o two of the beaver moon

rich violet

moon-sky 

light
take me into this burled morning

riding upon a white horse to the songs of cowboys and circling planets 

wool blankets cushion the fall to evermore and silent rivers of western longing 

sing to me of passages and the risk of knowing 

sing to me of secrets buried in pink quartz to the forgotten lullabies
whispered in languages only known to lovers

stars have no concept of ego
or shadows  ...

on leaning in

I have always become lost in the simplest of exercises
the
sweep sweep sweep of an almost-wet-mop
across floors cross-hatched with the lines of family
and
lives passed over and through
sweep sweep
the hypnotic dance of the have to
the ordinary course of days
leaving the sublime and the sacred
to
Everest seekers & pole dancers
sweep sweep
sunlight captivates me
hand raised to dust cobwebs laced against the cream puff plaster
27 bones of purpose & design
caught in the fragment
of
light to wall
infinite to mortal
these small worship movements of the day
press me towards open fields of winters wheat and harvest-dust rising
rising rising
leaning into the ordinary

dreamcatchers

there are moments when the ridged, aching bones of your sternum are pulled wide open
stretched and tethered to the beat of sun and longing
viscera & blood sweetly released into the particle'd evermore
feathers stilled by a hand so skillful & sure
petaled-krispy-creme-mornng …
climb inside my bones & take me home

charismatic grifter

the curve of this day
arcs & bends in direct proportion to the velocity of breeze
and
the sound of the noon train
thundering
thundering
thru a town suspended upon prairie golden & silver saged
removed to Mars by the veiled acceptance of lore & loam
 . . . in the tallest branches of nested stillness
quivers the tempered understanding of love & vapor trails
oh, i am equinoxed & present in the space between
the porcelain berry & the blue-sky'd hope of more

to the curve of this day  . .  

moon in virgo

Standing on the front porch, I can smell it . .
the smell of leaves burning !
I step outside
and
fall to the sidewalk of 1974 :
leaves are burning . .
somewhere
very close
wafting
hazing the neighborhood & the moon with presence
joy pours into me from fires expectation
and the rush of a kiss
life & love rustle with crisp forgiveness
14 feels like this ; tight & wild
organic & open
leaves are burning. . .
somewhere
very near
around the corner
in cornfields & cartwheels
catapulting innocence closer to the edge
twigs snap from the weight of
this story, this moment
caught in the tendrils of leaves smoke
rising
rising ....
to circle a moon lodged between the branches
of who I thought I was
and
who I have become
leaves burning me home ...

toll

A Price paid
twisted & wrung from the marrow
measured, in part,
by sorrow & loneliness
no regret
no risk too great
intimacy gathered in hours weaved
in ease & knowing
holding you i touched your face & knew how to let go and yet hold fast
your fragility & sacrifice have been weighed
your strength is daunting & wired with the precision of gods
as breeze turns to wind
under my hands the dry tired grass is cool, sticky
while the earth beneath remains warm & moist
as i dig for a balance
there
laying down in a paint-box of autumn
forgiveness nests around us
nests . . shifting, moving
leaves falling
part & parcel
you take my hand & bring it to your lips. . . inhaling deeply the fire of this season
the burn of earth, desire & green-growing things
open & fearless
you take my hand
leaves falling
falling fast & thick
everywhere
falling
and with every leaf the hole is pierced by sweetness
cutting with gamboge sharpness & some half-remembered giddiness
childish, innocent in it's ease
. .  oh wait . . .
It is joy
joy speckled pumpkin-vermillion & chestnut
shards of electric fire-joy shoot thru that marrow, thru the skin that is melting into october's grass
riding that wind into saffron-surrender
holding on
feeling every scar, every toll extracted
alive
hands crunching this canvas
holding fast as warm phoenixed musk-brilliance rises
pressed into skin naked & pearl-hot chilled
open & fearless
filled  . . .

Oisin

Skin and darkness
bodies learned and whisper-amazed
self is not a word here; as each need & wish is tendered
offered up . . .
to give & receive with equal weight & treasure
sureness is spoken in velvet tender loops of blue
willing and pulled to the edge of some
wild & primitive bourbon shore
skin hot . . melted
a thousand kisses deep
ancient of seasons change and
an electric borealis
we smell of snow and peanut butter
skin and darkness