Thursday, August 12, 2010
Above flowing dark waters
Past the last minutes of sun’s light
The geese hold a ribbon of sound
That takes me with them into evening sky
In their fold of brotherhood
Strapped to invisible currents
Lost in the last pointed star’s reach
Knowing direction by unwritten instinct
They follow ancient echoes
In the fantasy of their call
Shredding sound like guileless music
Into the long low growl of something wild
Written on vellum from broken trees
The sound strips my tongue of its hold on earth
And slings the arch of my inevitable smile
Over the wild open jasmine of time itself
Monday, August 9, 2010
The air inhales
the tender pulsing
of the birds.
They leave the sky
and carve the dirt,
digging into the place
where the sprinkler leaks.
The steaming, invisible air
has taken the lips from dew's child
and is breathing upon an apple leaf.
I can hear the brittle voice
of the curled tree
from the cleft of its shadow
where the cat's listless tongue hangs loose.
Time has ticked the water off,
to keep it safe
until the sun squeezes its last harvest
and falls off the edge.