It Came on Wing

It came on wing of air soft-tuned

waif of thought  

loomed by mother’s willing knot

and the minutes daring sky dark tossed

Saying   now is in between of see

a place of dream and slanted time

and if you open mind of eye

past goodbye to winged caprice

where peace holds eager at arms length

you’ll see around the curve of grace

the lovely of a missing face

I know this thought is fulsome want

and bids to see past seem of real

to peel the skin between the strands

such faith is hard sometimes to feel

I’ve seen this bless of rip in fabric

all stitched down with stretch

elastic

to leave the room of bright lit tone

to find a song   no not alone

but filled with fabric cinched not severed

between the clouds    I’ve seen forever 

On the Cement at Sunset

The fingers of her heart
tap out the measure of her feeling,
fragile tapered candles they spark
on the cement at sunset.







All around her
is a garden
growing so much whatnot,
lavished with wings,
bees and hummingbirds
surround her hair of dusk
where embers glow
with cinnamon.

Listen to the sound
of the stretching of her mind,
it is stitching now a minute,
growing colors,
see there the lavender of abandon.

I can see her from this window
that distributes time
wrapped in parchment
and tied with twine.

Her wings are splendid
and her eyes are prisms
that cast a shadow that burns,
burns the quiet heart,
torches the waiting pulse,
breaths air into the coals.

She is watching me,
across the chasm of my vestibule
she paints me with cinnabar
and waits for me
to walk with her
out into someplace else.

Which Way to the River

                                                               

Which way to the river

So far   so far

The path

walks with you

A feather notices the breeze

The ribbon of sky

touches the mountain

small thoughts are caught in the tangles

that dot the ridges all bend and bough there

Too far

distance is deceiving

time is its brother

Bathe your feet in rocks

trust the bones of trees

they have captured the way

their flourish marks the path

Sit down with breath

without counting

Listen to air speak

The water runs free

in me

Bend of Sky

Could I but go to bend of sky
see the things that sunrise brings
around the corner I would run
there bare shouldered dream with wings

Could a blooming backwards rose
grow from petals on the lawn
a breeze would take them to the face
and stick them there with dew of dawn

A child would know a wisdom song
an old man whimsy chase around
and ground would hold a crayon’s melt
as night moon glows a suntan brown

Love would surely stay with hands
that promised ever after
and trees would lay their branches down
for climbing faster laughter

Could I but go to bend of sky
see the things that sunrise brings
around the corner I would run
there bare shouldered dream with wings

Strum

The path turns fallow beneath my feet
bare and brown
so much youth beat within
a sin it seems to shod the truth
and casually walk around
as if time wasn't a circle
you woke to

God is the question still
and though I see the warming light
it is my own with wings and flight
and the guts of glory
that came from drowning
and the question who is dead

I have loved the lace in time
such pretty weaving catches me
planting well the seed that wonders
always asking slow or fast
detesting the blood of the righteous
to save the sisters and daughters
from the strangle of skin

The petals mold and droop into goodbye
even from the rigid frozen winter
and to see them stir the air
takes purity
and I despair my lack

Though I have taken songless wind
and with my ear created harmony
unglued the glass
and rubbed the wood until
my fingers ached
and still questioned why I worked the love
into the finish to feel it there smooth
and unafraid of weather
while my soft skin ached from the strum
yet still with joy    succumbed