larked

it is the poets that rattle the cage
that sing thru the fire silvered with rage
the poets;
with words for bones & blue sky for a heart
they light up the world as they fly upon larks
we travel thru time
on star-dust & coursers
with souls full of fire & songs about horses
veiled in complexities & mirth we do tell
of injustice
danger and
love's wishing well
so sing with a voice made golden by memory
ancient & telling, with a faint trace of rosemary
as earth's poets adorned in our tattered gossamer threads
we lean into winds blue-bitter & smooth
unfold our hearts
and await our true muse

white on white

there is a place to lay it
here upon the white on white
cross-hatched text replete with pause
darting as gray finches about the birch
spilling seed from beaks too impossibly small to matter. Much.
dart
feed
light
feathers litter the ground
impossible to pick up with these cold fingers
as words so oft stall within their tips
paused--waiting for more air?
more feathers?
here upon this page I leave my emptiness, my fullness
sorrow & sight
wonder & weariness
a lament for the yellow-tinged memory of wind & weight
however,
i have also dumped words as a velvet bag of marbles
sparkling, dull and difficult
into his capable-steeled arms
too cumbersome
too vined & untethered
too mercury-silver
forgive me
and thank you
for
there is a place to hold it
give it a name & pin it in place
only to lose it amongst the debris that is forgotten & frayed
there is a place to lay it
these words & weather
here alongside the fault-line of tender allowing
be mine
white on white 

within the teacup

when it feels i no longer need the refill
of
you
tethered and bound
by airplanes & ground
when the day's map comes wrapped in linen winter
threaded upon the morning's fire...

i rest here
pressed between he panes of ice blue forgiveness
and flannel
a wall
thick with remembrance
and the smell of spring's promise
crystal chill-snap
bracing this white sky sunlight
this
enfolding
to self

done

stillness underneath the white birch
feathered creature blue & grim
aura of sun fierce
captured within

offered as a gift--the question hangs
random relevance veiled
sun--ferris wheels overhead
the answer burns to a tale

coming undone
the white birch calls
where a downy sacrifice bleeds blue
as remembrance
fragile as campanula
something is given
fledged innocence grieved & glistened

of a January morning

Morning is promised here;
tucked in the
bitter-cold corners of darkness lingering
stillness beguiling in its enchantment
the Wolf Moon of the Western sky now soft
veiled by night's arch
and
the condensation of everything
darkness & chill press against me
from every direction
yet how can I leave this wondrous hour
so ancient this black before the sun

a rabbit suddenly appears to my right
a shadowed flutter
furred & furtive
as enthralled as I am ... 

holding this promise of day 

of a january afternoon

Gray;

a secret carried
dusty & forgotten
yet wrapped in the thinnest gauze of cloud linen
folded and folded once again upon itself
dark corners becoming shadow-velvet
gray is intangible
ethereal in her personality & along her edges
does she portend good or evil?
she is but a fog of paused belief
exquisitely laced along lines delicate & tarnished
gray is comfort tucked into Winter's stark whiteness
woolen naps with old books and promises timed to the moon
few are allowed to touch gray
understand her 

or
know the scent of ice--minted & melting

It was

Honeysuckle'd Steel Velvet Train
steamed--primed
tasting of bark and vine
moist earth rising to fill my nostrils 

Winter season of this ancient Sun

I
could
not
look too long
or I would turn to
stone--

Pink Georgia Marble
captured by the Apollo Sun
as
umbered words
conduct
this
bold tango
taming
dragons

fear

fools

and

halcyon fields

melting-mending-bending
skin to skin
turning night into neon
straw to gold
gold to moon  

rising riding
this
Honeysuckle'd
Steel Velvet Train