Friday, April 26, 2013
Wings of light,
free, not tethered to the bend of rock,
I hear a sound like clapping and laughter
and running tap shoed feet.
A shadow pauses on a rock,
I touch it with my own.
It is a tree of questionable name
but green just the same
on this hill
where I thought black stubs only remained.
A shadow is proof of substance,
I tell the tree,
with all this ethereal sound and light
proof that you and I are real.
Folly drawn my love, the tree replied,
the blue is always changing.
Now it curves upon the mountain
not held tight against my breast,
see it take on gravity.
I see, I say to tree.
So many places hurt now gone
like shadows on the rock now turned to sun,
and caught within the memory
a tree becomes a song.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
the dripping rain at night
upon the back of an old trash can
sound bites I am
In the morning
like jewels the grass and leaves beget
a thousand reflections of the sky
who cannot believe in that
The air is fulsome filling flight
of birds who watch the water swell
and wait until first light
the serpent's slither silver
slippery delight of catching
Oh the weight of waiting is sweet
as time ticks the clouds closed
and the wind wipes the sky clean
filling space with spirit air
there where God sleeps
Within the patterns of the broken fragments
of light reflected in corners and doorways barefoot
even crushed beneath the raging breath of earth
almost cursed we are blessed