rabbit holes

 i answered the door and home crossed the threshold 

velvet worlds beckoned 

 we jumped  1 … 2 … 3 

slipping into comfort & cloaks of knowing 

walls sang of edges 

the sheets sang of us 

alignment a funny thing - how it falls from your hand 

reckoning 

1…2…3. 

what rises from the dust becomes a rusted trust 

good luck charms burn just like old trees with a little gasoline 

skin holds the trace of love like a secret tattoo 

always there 

across the threshold 

1...2...3

within

 the shirt--striped yellow & white 

      or 

          maybe it was purple & white 

made of wildflowers & whispers [either way] 

i stole it from the closet of a boy who dreamed 

of great horned owls & stratocasters  

pressed between expectation & applause 

the shirt 

it felt like a cloud in December 

cooling & expectant 

safe 

snow will come

the spell of the full beaver moon

 whisper your secret upon my skin 

so i become feathered & eternal 

some long-legged crane watchful in a golden field 

transformation comes with pain 

corded & bound to earth 

your breath tattoos a silver oath 

smelling of earl grey & time 

what is this season? 

how shiny the scales as they creep & cover these aging bones 

sshhh 

only ghosts come her now 

only the feathered ones who can touch the moon 

aconitum napellus

deep-blue
necromancer
tucked along the crease between worlds
pastures
plains
and sunrise sofa cushions
whatever 
discarded in feather canyons & forgiveness
winds still as morning turns pink-gray
paused here on the cusp of snow
emptiness feels tight--boa constrictor tight
sorrow purple rolling up the tendrils & traces of time
tick--tock
tuberous nevermore to ponder the space between leaves & leaving
white-blue this day
this whatever 
my body ceramic-electric
still
stone

surrender

to feel real

somewhere in the pocket between the branch & the bird

lies a velvet truth  

soft-secretly-intimate 

a knowledge a knot a night ringed with a burning smell 

of light & dark & winter's forecast

a hollow pressed upon moonlit grass 

autumn leaves carry the scent of pine-love 

lingering in dreams 

caught 

somewhere in the pocket between branch & bird 

lojong slogan #2

 to flatten the crease 

refold the life that held you up 

you are more than all your parts 

but

your parts 

hold the magic key that grants you 

immortality 

waning gibbous

cooling moon

shuttered light-well to Oz 

captivated  

driving  walking standing 

poised upon a ledge that has become too comfortable 

what is it 

this change of season? 

is it autumn? 

ding dong the witch is dead autumn 

no 

it is more 

this otherworldly tincture of days 

this moonglow spell of night 

casting ancient dreams from yellow school buses & winged horses 

constellations shift shadows into suspended seconds 

lace underwear, football & fearlessness 

casting visions 

longing to be 10 .. ok ... maybe 15ish

lanky--full with secret words in my pockets

we make out in grass, on beds, on bikes, in rivers . .  because we can 

because we are 15ish

well, 

you can be sixteen with your tamed arrogance & mahogany bones 

the milky way & every nasturtium belong to us 

I know what you look like in mornings 

and can smell you on my skin

innocence seeds trust long fired in the bowels of mordor & mirth 

bodies lithe & limber twined naked--easy 

our tongues play cribbage against lips curious 

and sure 

sure of us 

paused on backs flat upon earth sumac-red-deep 

and 

soft 

suddenly

electric panes of glass slide 

revealing 

home 

in 

the moon