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