In Light

I glance above
Lattice work of autmn branches
    Trace the sky
Golden light through feathers
    of two birds in flight
Flitting moments before the fall of night

_

Trigger In The Dregs

Swept down from the heights of these hard-scrabble mountains
The winds of inspiration blew once again across this furrowed brow
    Rattled these patched up bones
Drawing out these words, these movements
    These moments

The best of life bubbles up this way,
not dragged out like some old worn out cliche

On that rocky bottom, in the murky airless depths
where the weighted chains of despair
    always drags a heavy heart
Lies that trigger, hidden in the detritus of our best intentions
That stirs the wind that lifts us once again towards light.

Odd to think we must pass this grim review
of all our follies best forgotten
as a path to a state of grace restored

Chutes and ladders, I know that there's one other way
Bon vivant, right there in my hand
Just see the forest for the trees


Share this laugh with me,
the kind that just bursts out unbidden
at the wonder of it all.

_

Upon The Wind

The wind is my reminder
of the passing of this time
every moment marked in nature's breath
   as this world  washes over me

This wind takes no notes, no names, no prisoners
Rushing forth to fill our lungs with life
Bear our cries
   and rinse away the dust with rain

That gift borne so grandly
   in magnificent streamered packages

From dust to dust, our moment so brief
The wind just dances with the joy of it
Myself just dancing for that's the way one moves
   connected to the heart.

A heart so full with the giving of it,
   the filling of other hearts
Trickle down, ripple down
My own little river in nature's greatest flood.

_

Playful Soles

This path I walk
  as vines meander, though growing toward light
  purposeful steps, on playful soles

Sometimes I feel I catch up with the moment, a synchronicity of time,
where place, intent and elements converge.
Then away, just beside it, dolphins off the bow.
Gone again, how can the kaleidoscope not move?

_

Down That River

Long lines worn in the weathered face of the land
    Gathered trails unnumbered, spilling down
    Join in homage to the sea

Life stream from the mountains
Ushered in those canyon walls that measure time
   In the depth by which they hold the water's flow

If wisdom is measured in moments,
    and an eon just a hand's width in the height of those walls
    How could we begin to grasp the knowing there?

The grandfathers, glowing red on the sweatlodge floor
    gather us around to journey farther into ourselves
    to hear the spirits that dwell in every creature
    every plant, every stone, the water and the air
    All my relations

Such are the steps along the red road,
    and now these steps that lead to the water's edge.

In the shadows of those cliffs
    far beneath that craggy lip
    did the river call your name?

As the waters lapped on polished stones
    and little specs of life went about their busy way
    did you feel the canyon watching you?

Did you look down through the smooth river skin
    Into the torrent underneath?
Did you see the passion of life churning there?
    The latent power of love, restless, undenied
    The power to move mountains
    Suddenly exploding over boulders
    The grand expression of light and sound and smell
Then a deep pool of contemplation again

Silent drifting on those scheming currents
    daft beneath a blazing sun
Welcome guest, or vain intruder?
    How did the river call your name?

Hush, hush, the wind it calls to you
    What sentiment is borne upon that breath?
In tune with that narrow slice of sky
Harbinger of the seasons
Carriage of the prayers of man
    sung within those canyons from the very first
 
Dame of the dawn, dancer on her own
Marks her step across the gravel stones
Massage the sins that came before
With your soul caress the earth
That in turn stabs and tears
That in turn is the softest, sweetest path

Footprints in the sands of time
    footprints on the edge
    numbered here, just a blink in time

When do the steps become your dance?
When is the journey sacred?
Perhaps this is why the river calls your name.

_

On A Line

Pulling on threads,
    resembles my growing these days

    The gentlest pressure
    The slowest motion forward
I've come so far that now the changes become so fine

But of late I've broken a few
    Holding on too tight
    Or wanting, even a little too much

And some I just hold in my hand
    Not Pulling at all,
a notion perfectly suspended
like this knowing of you

_

How Sweet The Knowing

When you told me how you had come to choose another,
my heart, it did not fall.
It just flew, it flew away
and all the love that you inspired there
was flung about the world

How sweet the knowing, despite the flesh contained.

_

Roots in the Marsh

Spokes above me, when I opened my eyes
Illuminated from behind, slightly, soft glow
dawn? or the moon.

My rain, over the edge
through cold air, but no frost this morning
Her rain, so soft almost a mist
but with droplets that float like snow for hours

Inside my canvas nest, before a potent little fire
that is cloistered in steel and cooks my meals
crucible driving moisture from the wick that is my house

I move within a hula-hoop there
a beautiful connection between idea, and motion
In a conscious and easy grace
that honors my muse

This is the center of my life now
Luxurious carpets and aromas,
the softest warmest bed I ever could desire.

A disc, this space, three man-heights wide
On a square just larger
Floating waist high above a sea of grass

Deer come to this place,
slipping in from the wilds that line the creek
to eat apple fall,
moving in perfect grace as if they had no choice.

Egrets commune among them,
bringing gossip down from the geese, the ducks
Funny, I never see them land, or leave,
ethereal vestiges from magical skies, my kin

I've been told, it floods here, in longer rains
Late at night, in my bed as the heavens pour down, I know the water is rising.
  They say water in your dreams bespeaks the sub-conscious
  am I awake? water underneath me, water heavy in the air,
  as an idea, all around me like shadows in a dream

During breaks, bereft the din, I hear the creek roaring in the fields
  and the trickle sound of water working past the barn
  and under fences

For some, it is the sight of new fallen snow in the morning
But I, upon a lake where just before was land

Quite soon it is gone from beneath leaden skies
and frogs chorus in the night

_

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