Outlasting Moths

A season of antiquity, the marrow
of a long thigh bone- life gnawed thin
by large grey moths. See how light

continues to stray through
each worm-eaten portal

the exact point at which desire
enters and exits the body

surviving its journey long after
roaring wings of nocturnal insects

have fallen quiet.

Things Will Come and Go

Late into night, the moon
white as blank sketch-paper,
my melancholy heart is filled
with doubt. Should I close
my eyes and miss the stars?
Will I forget the lovely sound
of howling wolves singing through
the darkness? What if morning
never wakes my mind, set free
and weightless as the clouds?
Inconstant winds outside my window
playing in the fluttering trees
reassure me things will come
and things will go exactly
as they please.

Of the Soul

No one knows
the inner sanctum
of the soul;

you look surprised
as if you don't believe.

Almost like weather
how it changes
colors seasonally,

sweet at first,
then black as burnt,
cracked as stone.

Home is where
the light attaches
to our dreams;

the soul much deeper
keeps its secrets
underneath and hidden.

When angels come,
immense and swooping
birds fly down

the soul is plucked
extracted quickly from
its mortal prison.

The Sea Must Be a Woman

Blue dress, grey eyes,
lacey veil, threads snapping
in a cold and naked wind.
Her bosom swelling, sinking
like a sleepy drum; her spine
a gentle curve of sand. In
her womb, the whale, the seal,
great fishes of the depths conceived.
But is she sad or lonely tightened
to her mother's cradle or grateful
that her passion never wanes?
The sea must be a woman for
she shares her gifts unselfishly.


Surely, To Ashes

I'm not like you; it is
my blood dripping in soil.
My wing bones wrecked,
broken in three places.

Unlike you, I cannot see
the stars, their silver bodies
perfect in a perfect sky;
my blindess irreversible.

And when, the nothingness
spreads like wild-fire,
unable to rise or fly away,
surely, I will burn to ashes.

So That Others Can Exist

Maybe, once more, I'll believe or hope.
For example: this night is endless, although
the muscular owl wrestles with his frantic prey,
one of them will live. That which kills you
doesn't know redemption; the dead are suddenly
innocent. Returning to his steady bough,
the massive bird preens and strokes without
a thought of sadness or contrition.


Steadfast Things

Always rocks and bones and God
the soul admires; steadfast things.

Never fathers or the nature of water
which constantly changes. This life

hangs tenuously, fastened between
like hinges of a sagging door;

our bodies stretched and beaten by
the ailment of our endless search.

I want to know the moment you accept
your weakness, unguarded as the dozing birds,

faraway and breaking like the anguished
stars who slowly fade and disappear.

When the Evening Comes

This night's hand stretched
across purpled green,

a finger pointed
at the hills. We say,

"we understand, we see"
when there is nothing.

Shadows of nothing-

an errant arrow, a poisoned
owl, the jagged flight of moths

makes its way back
to our darkening window.

Whose blessed vision flies
or walks a straight line?

Who returns from long, blind
journeys with unspent spine?

Even proud willows
bow over the lake

when evening comes.

A Drinking Well

I've never been a daughter;
that gift was not intended
for a homeless heart.

I am a stranger to my father
as he is to himself.

This hole,filled with helpless
violence, a drinking well packed
with quarry stones;

what was I when I was born
and who must love me? When
will I be free to love?

Here I am, a solitary tree,
a barren field, a dying bird
forgotten by the unseen forces

that brought me here to live.


Falling Through

Unfortunate spider, hissing down
your silver ladder, nature's innocence
and dagger has done you in. Brown bird,
wild without a thought of beauty or its
fragile lace-like mesh,ripped you from
your glittering castle. And now, I understand
the bloodless wound, ashes of a dying fire,
the secrecy of moonlight falling through
the empty spaces of my vestige heart.

When Winter Comes

I could have killed you earlier
instead, I let you live.

How can I give you peace
when leaves are sprouting?

What shall I do with love;
my heart is burning?

And more the fields erupt
saffron, purple, tiny lilies,

hillsides rising green
and red, I hold you still.

When winter comes, if blizzards
keep you from me, then I will,

dragged into the crystal woods
with gentle deer, hunting wolves,

at last, release you there.

How Sweet the Rain

I had forgotten the smell of snow,
the names of stars, the darkness
and its blindfold, the ocean's eyes,
the persistent patience of flowers;
suddenly, the shadow of a long-winged bird,
like death swoops down from overhead will
I regain their joy. How brilliant now
the sun, how sweet the falling rain,
how precious are these fleeting senses!


Yet, Every Man

We were not made
to be cannibals.

Yet every man has
hunger in his eyes.

The earth holds
its gifts, then

offers them up
to start again.