poetry_

Troves

In the morning I walk
the shore.
It is covered
with shells,
some more broken
than others.

They arrive in troves-
after traveling long distances.

They arrive as if on holy pilgrimage,
as if with a song in their throats,
as if with a prayer,
as if with a purpose.

They arrive-

after being in some perfect form for so long,
they arrive to return-

to be broken down again,
to become material.

to return to the collective mass
which minds the exact shape
of the place where many more
will arrive tomorrow.

**


Corners

usually where four planes meet (inside)
or where two streets cross (outside)
like
the corners of my mind
and
don’t put baby in the corner
or
standing in the corner at my party
or
standing in the corner at my funeral
or
standing on the corner
getting the widest view
and
the corners of my eyes
(a place where tears form)

**


Time is a Goddess

Time is a Goddess who minds you dearly. There is no emergency. You do not have to know. You do not have to decide. It will unfold for you, in perfect timing.

Time is a Goddess who minds you dearly. Trust her. You are blessed with the materials of space and motion. Cultivate these things. One of them is you.

Even when rushed, frantic, and forced, you have managed to become (to unfurl). There is no emergency.

**


She says

In my room in the sun’s light,
I do animal things.
I writhe around and push into warm spots
or melt-
pressing to melt.

I admire my wild body
curves and lines
it glows-
for me.

I turn my face toward the sun,
like all animals do. And the sun, she
speaks back to me

Slowly, she drips
a steady message
through beams of light-
they seep into my pores.

Organizing behind my exodermal sieve,
A call to become light. And the sun, she
instructs me as to how.
I try to tell others-
the language is beyond me
all I can muster is “you are not you”

Meanwhile I am turning-
almost without effort
from a particle
into a wave.

**


Homes within homes  

I am part soil.
I am part rain.
I am forming clay.
I am one thousand acres, taken shape and shifting still in every direction.
I am powerfully vast, deep and wide and expanding still in every direction.
I breathe this way, deeply and fully.
I speak this way, deeply and fully.
I love this way, deeply and fully.
I am rooted in perfect timing.
I breathe this way, effortless and playful.
I speak this way, effortless and playful.
I love this way, effortless and playful.
I am one thousand acres, taken shape and shifting still in every direction.
I am all of the hills, all fields, all mountains, all of the rocks and every crevice, all of the plants, every seed, moss, petal.
I am all of the rivers, all rain, all dew, every single drop anointing myself.
I am all of the insects, all animals, every wing, every paw, every tongue, every heart beating, every eye that sleeps.
I am all seasons, in an everlasting dance, each one birthing the next.
I am many dwellings.
Homes within homes.
Home in all forms.

**


Dog with a bone

Sitting in the yard
a dog with a bone
she has drained
all of the marrow-
the life force
from the tectonic, calcium
plates, now brittle.
And the dog,
still narrows
her eyes, lowering
herself over the past,
guarding it with
feverish growls as if
the promise of
more of what was
were a truth.

**


A list of shiny things that I can see

The disco ball at a roller skating rink, iridescent confetti streamers wrapped around the tree branches in my backyard, a wet pearl in an open shell, star, glass, my body in the sun, your body in the same sun, bodies of water in the same sun, a prism

**


Crow

Even when the people are asleep
the massive dance goes on.

Do you wish to hear it-
the tongue of the crows
who gather daily in ceremony,
discussing at length- the Otherworld?

More than to listen, but
to believe them.
To know that they mind
the turning wheels
of giving and grieving, in this
cemetery.

Do you wish to taste it-
how the earth offers herself
to you?

How she offers you as well?

How you ripen and rot,
along with all fruiting bodies,
daily, lunarly, annually, and finally?

How small and vital.

**


Our River

Gathering on the front porch
with its paint peeling
aged in the hot sun
we breathe in
One of us is cooking
something savory and deep
and the pleasant cat
curls itself at my feet
while I am sipping something sweet and strong
(like all of us)
One of us is hanging linens on the line
One of us is floating naked in the river
One of us is upstairs making love
One of us is holding a baby on their hip
One of us is laughing
One of us is consoling
One of us is being consoled
In the evening we play music and
All of us dance
and in the morning
All of us are gathering blankets, books, and
baskets of fruit
for another day spent at the banks
of our river

**


Gaze

Muse existing is the object
(she)

Object in space is form
(soul and senses via the body)

Form contains function
(feeling and doing / speaking and listening)

Function is a catalyst
(in having the ability to)

Catalyst is a change
(to cause an effect)

Change proves time 
(once this, now this, so there)

Time lives in observation
(look, a thing in motion)

Observation becoming holy
(oh, that body is sacred)

Sacred is the Gaze 
(see, a holy thing in motion)

Gaze cast upon a Muse  
(seeing as in uncovering)  

Muse becomes aware
(I am being seen)

Awareness finds The Gazer
(I see you seeing me)

The Gazer becomes the object
(soul and senses via the body)

Object is the Muse existing
(she)