Thursday, September 29, 2011
There is a difference
in the way trees react to wind.
One is still,
looking over the roof of the house,
its branches hold grace by holding back,
with a kind of regal symmetry
it keeps its leaves intact.
The tree just behind it is moving all around
and I can feel the music of its dance
upon my own skin now.
Like a jumpy kid in line to buy a toy,
it can’t hide the excitement of air that moves in joy,
and the sound of leaves like rushing streams
is music I hold dear,
yet without the stately charm of the other
would the song be quite as clear?
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Lay me down gently;
I am worn smooth.
A hand can slide across my skin
and not be aware of the striations
from time's window wrapped there.
The umber of my hair
is like shade on sunlight,
and silk to the finger's touch;
slipping through the weave
leaves a song
that passes the bleeding ache of need,
not noticing the cusp of time
in balance there.
I am singing again with the youth
of loud exuberance
and my opera pleases me.
Light the window of my expression
and feel me scratch you with my fingernails
filled with dirt ... damp and determined.
Where are my wings then?
High and mighty there is a place
long past the sky or any crazy bird;
it flies with colors that have no words
and doesn't need explanation.
One day I will know the way there.
Come to me in the twilight,
as the sky descends into the warm earth
and the last flying bat snaps the smallest wing.
Lie down in the tall grass and listen.
The crickets will be stopped
by our rustling breath's loud whirr.
Catch my mouth as you exhale
and lick my fragile lower lip
to still the quiver.
Lay me down gently.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Do you remember what midnight said
all up lit the moon almost
in the slow steady stealth of leaves
the opening of gates and windows
and all the pretty songs
sniff sniffing along the path
behind the bush a majesty so small
there were pearls that were rocks before
and the road across the pond was held still
by the grace of sleeping fish
We were all wrapped up
in the color that crossed the room
when the drizzle of some madness took me
to see what dark of sky was for
around the bend of canopy candle lit still
like mosquito netting the smoke I blew
and unlit the thing that was weaving motion
and opened the door alive alight with focus
left for just this sweet of me all open can’t you see
and some how for one moment I was free
Sunday, September 4, 2011
I see as geese do the river
because the sky to my eye
is what geese see
Sound holds them together
the river a path to the green pleated grass
and the woven fields of corn
even bright heads of sunflowers
to the vine-covered trees
blackberry brambles and tule grasses
of the delta
That cool delta breeze
makes a song from just leaves
and blesses the wind chimes
awake through the night
in the quiet forgotten
Shadows fall from houses
where heat closes windows
and kisses tomatoes
until plump and ready
to settle the meaning
that was never a question
I thought that the sun
slipping into the ocean
had the curve of a love song
wrapped in its cheek
until I saw it melt
in the river beside me
around my bare feet
Softly the pigeons sip from the morning
dipping reflection from just watered lawns
knowing life is always delirious with change
and lasting like love and front doors
finds the way home just like geese do