star on your head cloud in the eye

I open my lungs to this day
and my eyes meet yours. Can you
see the small cloud floating
like a song before the sun
of my left eye, silent,
soft, collecting colors
and edges of the world?

Another, smaller lies in the water
of the right eye, hardly named.

I try to get to know them
like neighbors, but honestly,
who knows their hunger?

All that I know, all that I want
is to open these twin suns
to what is before them. I carry
the black box of mirrors,
holding it up to the light.

Come with me, let some of your
light fall over the dark squares
of our book we clothespin to dry.

Whatever Happened to Columbus

Columbus, looking ragged by now,
sits on the rock bench at the edge
of the yard. It's Monday morning
and the sky is full of the sea.

Every tree, the sharp-leaf maple,
twisted pine, the vine in the side yard
curling and dreaming her green hair,
listen to his breathing.

It was a rough night and rain
seeped into his shadow, and
the cool October sun
tries hard from a distance
of stars to dry him out.

I want to take him coffee,
bold and sugared. Will he smile
or continue to chew on the twig
at the corner of his mouth.

~~~

Ancient Craft of the Shearer

First Cut Shearing
www.firstcutshearing.blogspot.com

connected

The sun makes a larger name
for itself, leaks and bursts
it's burning voice toward our wet
home. Blue and usually able
to cool itself. Perhaps we look
too much like treasure.

We stay inside with all the fans spinning
jazz, windows closed, coveting
the last cool notes from
the meteor night.

I wonder about Moscow, burning steadily,
700 souls dropping daily in the haze.
Sun spreads orange wings.

We will travel to the water today,
pray with our hands and legs.
practice the fish's dance.
Fly with ghosts.

Not one moment will pass us by
without a grateful utterance.
We look to the sky under us,
see the end and beginning
of all things,

cool our cells,
imagine,

hold the hand
of all people.

how movement affects all things

The world just ended yesterday.
Sea's waves folded back onto themselves,
the boat's wake forgot
where it came from.
Slowly, salted green sky
of no roots is held aloft
in the bowl of all things.
Your mother, my sky.
I wish I could tell you something
wise. Spirit welcomes us home.
Whale song, mysterious
and lovely, just keeps going
away from itself.

the invisible

Orange sun, warm spill of sensation,
over my head, my face,
my shoulders, back, belly,
legs and feet,
my toes,
inside of me.

I heard a wing of feathers
slipping through the air
of quiet. The other wing
came too.

I wanted the sound to land on me,
or so close the song of its
body would open my eyes.

Trust is being blind
and understanding you
still see.

notions

Worry is darker water rising up
through clear water of the space
where clear water is.

Worry is nothing. My mind wandering
on its own to fill up space of
not knowing.

Before nothing comes
my mind wants to play and
make up a new story of
what might be.

The sun hushes my mind
by warming my back. She catches
my attention.

My mind is pretending
to be separate.

at the same time I know
I am one and feel hungry
to connect what feels
separate.

I am hungry to be
where I am. This moment.
The clarity of being here.