early november

following the first rains,

earth perfumes the head

as damp and bay laurel and redwood rise skyward.

ferns unpin their curls at the feet of oaks.

kite and crow skirmish loudly

high above the crown of yellowing sycamore.

the river’s voice returns-

live music is never the same twice.

The first drops to hit

Yellow finches are preparing for rain.

While quick sky changes cast shifting light,

the fountain hypnotizes with song.

A ceramic mug of black tea rests on a knee,

and imagined scenes play out in my head.

With the wind tossing strands of hair,

I realize,

staying for the first drops to hit

may be the baptism I’ve been waiting for.

Accepting the task

The imprint of the dream, 

a sudden waking

a gasp

an “oh my god” and

you return

to the surface

from a who-knows-where and

a deep

dive

down

carrying now

a dancing fish.

Upon the glass, a reflection.

Through the glass, a being.

Beyond the glass-

a destination calling you forth.

Without end

begins

with accepting the task

that brought you here.

For the women in those photographs 

For the shes,

for the women who held in reserve everything but

what they betrayed in the fathoms of their eyes,

I dance for you,

let my laid-down hair fly

and skin sweat rivers

underarm and between thigh.

My laugh is the wild thing you withheld 

and the leap it was never safe

for you to take.

The salt this body gives up,

one gift I can give.

Carry me to where your bones rest,

I’ll bring the skull I’ve been handed

when calling guides from the directions.

You’ve yet to reach my dreams

but when you do

I know

your unpinned hair will be the least

of what you bring to night sleep.

Return

For those running running,

forget holding onto your hat-

that which has you trying to flee,

with its tangles and barbs and gashes and claws,

can outrun you

and knows every shortcut

to come out ahead

again

and again and again..

Face what you plead with silently

to go away

Return return

Hold onto your heart instead.

That intricate webbing of blood coursing its way

through all of you,

into toes, and eyelids, and knees.

Your heart, you,

the one constant partner-

wrap tender fingers around the unwanted.

For those working through terror,

For those tending to their rage,

For those who turn, who return-

Your life is yours.