Monthly Archives: February 2016

corners

I see them aloft-
your dreams,
high above your head-
something in pastels
shaded with deep red
and bold charcoal lines.

And the way
you look at these-
upward
with widened eyes-
draws me into your bliss,

warm and nestled
sitting in the corners
of your smile.

footprints

Yesterday, I cut back the burning bush
on the hill beside my house.

It never spoke to me.
Not once.

It had grown higher
than I stand, unchecked
for now thirteen years,
and never commanded me
to remove my shoes.

It is recommended
that the wings be trimmed in late winter,
before new growth begins.
The fly-away branches-gone now. Just
fragments discarded on some sad morning
and a rooted scrag in place
awaiting rebirth.

I see no divine providence
or transcription of holiness
in this. Hope will follow
in the spring.

Now, a deepening chill ebbs
-in vain.
Winter is not yet over,
and I tarry in the garden
alone.

Immersion

It seems like a metamorphosis
of sorts.
There is evolution of the language
in the shade of pines,
assuaged by a sun companion,
the complexities of the song
from her secret heart-
a pastorale,
that lures and covers me.

I become sacrificial
and my tongue,
a voice in the chorus,
melds with the music.
A heightened song
of concurrence-
wrapped in vines of honeysuckle,
floating in basins of still water.
Ringing true, long after
the last word is uttered
in near, deep silence.

where

This place I recall,
where I stacked chairs
against the wall, placed in rows
like a caravan,
readied as a train to resign.

Something empty,
forgotten in a room
with silver clouds and wooden tomes
describing Vesuvius and its ashes
falling.

That which buries me
only spalls, and I – willing for lightning
to strike –
don’t forget that
beneath the cumulonimbus,
one part rains,
another part shades.

blink

In the green, a want
is growing – still and hopeful-
rapt. And knowing that the spell
is brief,
a pin-point moment -lust-
a thief glances – no-
it clutches
hold and deepens,
dilates what was touched
and seasoned.
Lines and edges, flecks and flux
core and flesh, entwined amok.
And somehow, moments in the end
a cured and coupled image
penned, a brush too lightly
to offend,
and focused there,
she starts again.