Archive | March, 2018

Snowed

30 Mar

 

Phone, still.
Coffee.
Toast.
A perfect 7 minute egg.
Movie.
Read.
Nap.
Wander staircase to windows.
Birds eating seed.
Nest under the eaves.
Short long day.
Grey sun done.
Wine, red.
Candle, bath and blanket.
Phone, still.

You, in my thoughtarms
making moonbroken circles across
the wide white night.

January 17, 2018

 

Open Ocean

20 Mar

When I woke up, it smelled like someone was making breakfast.
Some things, I’ll never understand.

I’m not going to cry.

I’ll get up.
Dress comfortably well.
Go have tea and oats.
Organize my life for tomorrow.
Sit, dream and watch people.

If there was a dart to throw at one point of the world
where the flower of dreams blooms,
I could attach a strand of red wool
and chain stitch toward the plotpoint of
where I’ll find you.

But for now it’s tea and oats
and forgetfulness in focus,
shuffling tiny stacks of details
like sand bars to navigate before
open ocean.

And I’ll leave this treasure map
unfixed or finished.
Because finding one’s way
is never smooth nor even
especially when light becomes
more precious than the prize.

January 15, 2018

Not Yet

13 Mar

 

On morning winterwakings
sometimes I speak
into the cold quiet
to break the breath of the comatose air,
a Lazarene call
under quilted cloth and doubt.
“Don’t think to Spring,” I whisper,
“to sparrows in the redtree,
to when earth opens for Love and tears.
Right now is not leaving you.
Each Janus breath flows shallowblue
over his cold shoulders
and your warm feet.
Lie like a cold seed,
a promise,
covered in a coat
of bitterblack.
Let the numbed edge of wasted word and expectation
bruise, blacken and fall
from your collar and cuff.
Look up.
Cheer the last leaf on the limb
still waving welcome at dawn.
If she can greet the heatless sun drybrown in breathless praise,
you can, one green morning
unfurl a slim arm
newborn,
and catch her
final fall.

January 10, 2018

 

Mistress Mana

9 Mar

 

Mistress Mana
waves her sovereign hand,
delivers a crisp scripted
edict of feathered stars
over slope and broken rock.
Her white whisperlaw is read
at every window.
“Today ye shall
sleep,
make love,
tell story,
wrap your body in blanket, sock,
and pillow.
Eat and drink
by the pyre
of felled oakprinces.
Unlock the heartchest
and play games of chance
with memory.
And when the darkness falls,
ye shall breathe out
onto the blackblue
mirror of night
warmwhite exhaltations
For I am.
I abide.
Even in the silent pause,
between each degree of earth’s turning .”

December 9, 2017

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