25 Monday May 2015
She leaves behind
a constriction of heart,
with protective, limited beating, and
steps into a centerless center
with rivers vast..
tributaries both drawing and feeding..
Headwaters spring silently
out of mountains, and build depth
hollowing gorges.
Miles and miles
of woven waterways, each
with a Song.
Her heart is no longer an organ but
a Way
with rhythm.
23 Saturday May 2015
rock and water and sky,
stone and salt and wind.
if I wear skulls
they are not for your eyes to fondle-
like the bones I steep
in nutrient-rich broth
i do not forfeit all my secrets.
pushing for the mystery
will bring plastic and cliche,
which your senses will detect
as truth.
in falsity,
protection.
04 Monday May 2015
Posted in abundance, becoming, devotion, fearlessness, gratitude, movement, poems, poetry, transition
≈ Comments Off on Things
Closet doors open,
Books stacked on the floor,
Clothes piled, blankets heaped,
Rugs rolled up and removed,
A gallon of vinegar squatting
where the couch used to be..
Remaking oneself’s got nothing to do
with things.
03 Sunday May 2015
a stormy gateway opened… and a golden one closes..
it can be like that
stepping outside yourself
to usher in what’s waiting.
move into an unknown place
and watch
new hands lay claim
to what you thought was yours.
29 Wednesday Apr 2015
Into the pine
great horned owl flies
and rests, for a time, at twilight.
The same tree
in which you dreamed,
long ago,
owls stood watch-
one guardian facing southwest waters,
another the northeast ridge line..
What you dream is busy
dreaming you.
22 Wednesday Apr 2015
Her bones
fall into mine.
Her fight, her grief,
her bite,
in my arms, my legs, this heart,
are embraced.
She lost footing, at last,
giving up land for the sea.
There I swim,
offering her resting place,
and the tender hold
she has hungered for
all along.
12 Sunday Apr 2015
He always shows up uninvited.
And closed doors don’t slow him in the least.
(It’s like that when you haven’t a face,
a body
or a name.)
His approach sinks your belly like a battleship,
and ushers in a near silent gasp-
“Oh no.”
To which,
were anyone else to hear and wonder,
you’d deny ever uttering.
So you reach for a bottle,
and the volume button,
also the telephone, the tv and a book-
none of which can you pay any attention to,
breath having suspended upon his arrival
in singular focus:
that of prey.
And how, possibly, to get away…
Consider the difference
were you to put down the glass,
smile at the kids still out playing frisbee in the yard,
take a seat, look at him
and say,
“Hello, old friend. What have you come to tell me?”
12 Sunday Apr 2015
Out into space
a finger,
wrist, forearm, shoulder, neck stretches..
nose leads forward, head tilts
into the roll taking a body
down
away from what sustains into
the craving and desire to possess that thing
that woman that car that status that
tasty morsel that cons you-
that you con yourself-
into believing
will scratch the itch, quell the hunger,
satisfy that blasted longing leaving a belly growling
every morning
a body doesn’t fall into
itSelf.
10 Friday Apr 2015
Rewiring a body,
what with its arms and pinkies and patellae,
in knowing hunt
of the frequency of wind
through forest tops and hillside grass
as all else quiets,
of the partnered rhythm of breaking waves and
the ocean of this heart,
of the resonance in birthing sunlight
crossing far valley hills-
These sounds our bones hum
when the clutter and reversals and dust
have been cleared
from places they never belonged.
08 Wednesday Apr 2015
A swooping line
A twisting span
A rough hollow
An angle, sharp
A smooth soft warmth
A hard jumbled stretch..
With gentle fingers, slow contact
and light gaze-
the textures of your life,
this sculpting of who you are-
each day you explore form of spirit
and shape it with the quality of
your own touch.
Make it kind.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 