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 . . .