27 Thursday Jun 2024
I have decided I may be losing my marbles.
But that’s not really the problem,
finding the hole they seem to be tumbling from is.
Were I able to locate that,
at least then, when I’m light enough to fly,
I’d know where the wind is whistling through.
26 Saturday Aug 2023
Fuchsia smurf hat
and a cashmere scarf,
feet cupped in sheepskin..
it’s August
and far from cold.
Sometimes you hold yourself
in whatever way you can.
The yellow jackets are on full attack,
two stings slowly healing.
Jay carried away a green fig,
no time to pause for sweetness.
The boundaries have become sloshy,
I’m waiting for true definition.
The wait may have lost its own edges.
17 Friday Mar 2023
The horrible truth, felt,
finally spoken,
worse than death. Many times worse.
Sky fills with vultures, high,
dozens spiraling dozens, circles and circling.
Perhaps nothing so beautiful,
nothing before.
Large, black, some golden with angling sun,
every one of them alive with death,
their carrion feast,
every one of them, all, in flight,
wings extended and eyes bright, alive
in partnership
with Death.
Alive and flying, together, loosely
through sky,
floating and effortless,
in partnership
with Death and Wind.
Effortless.
Flying, floating, free.
And effortless.
12 Saturday Nov 2022
Chittering morning birds pull me from the page–
eyes move from word toward sound,
where their light hopping feet bring me to flight
from bare branch, through 17 degree air,
to bark-covered lattice above the front door.
Frost, like gold flakes, falls from their trail in sunlight.
They have such great conversations.
13 Monday Dec 2021
The storm is making noisy mouths of the shingles this morning,
and pom-poms of the pine’s branches.
Rain beads the panes,
droplets meet socially, gather in their weight
and river down, down towards wet ground.
A limy glow. Needles sticking long on fence, on chair,
all throughout lavender’s hair.
Yesterday at this time crows were dancing in sunrise light,
pink orange, sorbet swirl of clouds,
save one:
She sat still atop a black fir, staring.
Our four eyes, in settled bodies, soaked in the welcoming arms
of our rising Sun–
now, She knows how to begin a day.
30 Sunday Sep 2018
Across the bay
mountains rise soft,
cutouts against slant of morning light.
Blue gives to blue-lavender gives to blue-grey.
Atop brick chimney between here
and that far there,
this spring’s jay baby, narrow and tall, checks
the street’s goings-on.
He bobs and bolts, whisks himself
down
and away
toward wide opening of day.
06 Friday Jul 2018
The swallow dip of joy,
swift arc and cut through bright sky,
has been on lengthy migration
to lands unnamed.
Yet the time allotted here, however long,
confined in concrete, noise, requirement and excess
may finally break me of this place.
What follows out
of the daily abrasions of adjusting
while not giving everything and nothing away
may open space enough for that swallow
to return truly
home.
27 Sunday May 2018
The transformed steals the love-light,
not for greed
but for our preference.
What’s left behind in grit and dust,
even discarded in rank alleyways,
is the work of the chrysalis.
The
cramped
confused
identity-erasing
dark
of wrestling for the next life form,
of flight,
of nectar,
of tumbling in gravity’s wave
among flowers, bees and blue.
Remember what beauty lies in ugliness
before walking away from the misunderstood.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 