inside of us
no place for cold
what once floated on lost
grew roots from the sky, and they
wrapped around clouds, painting them
luminous and full of harmony,
and the roots of found rained down
in gentle hold, showed the trees
how to stay the seasons, how to last
they spread and deepened, wove
through time, centuries of roots,
paths that crossed and crossed again
until it became one path that grew
and led us home
The sailboat waited for the wind,
for the tide to rise, and the clouds
waited for the sun, while the trees waited
for rain. The river waited for the moon
to tell its tidal tales, and the fish waited
for the river to flow their days. And it was
quiet, and still, and I was waiting, too.
I was counting tides on the sailboat,
waiting for you.
you’re on a plane but you are not coming home,
waiting in line, third for take-off, a life through
oval windows, and you’re off again, gaining air
losing ground, time spend moving around,
departures and arrivals, runways and wind direction,
climbing and descending, landing gear,
it’s just another day, another day I drink tea alone,
another day the sky claims home
the water held green, and it loved
pink so deeply that the sun rose each day
just to watch how green surrounded her true,
protected every petal and blush, and she
cherished him and stretched her bloom,
and the water was their canvas, so nothing
would change, and the reflection made
all that grew timeless, and we knew
don’t blossom here, flower,
close up, go back inside. don’t reach,
for your sun, don’t open your petals
wide. don’t smile, or believe, or
speak your fuschia dreams.
he’ll pick you if you bloom just right,
grip you, rip you, wilt your hue,
until a lovelier one blooms, and he will
drop you. pick her. pick her. pick her.
you’ll be lying on the ground, with no
way to grow. wither. hold your blooms,
dear flower, let him pick no more.
tell me again
what’s wrong with me.
I’ll pull up a chair,
like a child listening
to a bedtime story,
while you list all the ways
I will never be enough,
remind me why I am alone,
sing me my failures,
question my abilities,
paint my inferiority,
hum my inadequacy,
strum the notes of my wrongs,
then ask me
The Music Man, he soothes; he plays all his chords in blue,
leans back his head, eyes closed, fingers of a poet.
He plays out his soul, in sonnets of electrics strings,
harmonies of rain and green. He’s made of music, mountain,
and silence, still searching for his home. His melody
so sweet that clouds rain words, lift hearts into bloom.
Miles and miles away, she sits in peace by the sea,
and the mountain tells the waves the Music Man’s song.
She hears it all, Music Man’s dreams never sleep; she collects
each note, each word, each dream, two souls – and builds a home for both.
“I will end up alone he says,” and in the silent pause,
so many doors close. She collects the know before the feel,
cancels the gray-haired couple, arm-in-arm,
rocking late days on the porch of music. Promises
to stay, believe, carry him to night, those are blown away,
stripped like maples’ autumn color, disappear like summer
days. Perhaps he chose alone to spare her in some way.
Though the layer of fallen leaves and torn up plans weighs
deeply through her bones, she carries pieces of him with her.
He will never be alone.
Distance is measured in absence and cups of tea.
Seasons fly like miles, wildflowers remind, but then go,
their faces hung with sorry. Distance lingers its space
in written kisses, muted colors, and shadows in between.
Music fills, then hollows, echoes, magnifies the far.
Measure it in cold, the blankets it takes to feel safe,
the uneasy sleep of reach, tired photographs scatter.
Distance is kilometers of untold stories, substitutions,
the poetry of isolation, the lapse of home, the missing.
Distance is measured in the expanse of the ache for you.
and when she would glide,
remember her white and honest
she tucked beneath her wings,
a trail of glow bloomed beneath
her. float. shine, water angel,
collector of let go dreams, swim
in swirl of come true bright,
flashing believe, keeper of know,
angel wings save sinking hope,
swan’s heart throwing light.
in how shall i wait when i drift
within the feel of all that is you,
music and the wrap of my soul,
wildflowers and goodnight kisses,
guardian mountains and speaking eyes.
traveling my days woven with your
every thought, and mine, and wait,
so patience rings like a bell tower
on the highest hill, and I climb
by the sun’s pull and my know of you
to the now that waits for tomorrow,
each step and word, hope leading to
when i was lost and you were stay,
i fell and fell, but you were catch, and hold,
mountains threatened, but you, soar,
flew me, and softly settled, places of peace.
when i was buckled by screaming,
you were music, sweet calm, rocking me
back, inside, through, beside you.
i am lost again and i wait for your stay
stay stay stay, I feel only silence, but cry
for my stay.
Listen, hear, I am but a gull whose feathers
raise against offshore winds, but the sea,
the sea sent me with words for you.
I waited by the shore break, passed
many days, tides, and angry rain, for the sea
spoke, called forth the sun. As I rode
his rolling surf, he sung of his love for you,
the furious storms that frightened you away.
He knew you trembled in your sleep, dreamt
of being swept away under his dark waves.
He quieted, and waited for your sun to return.
“Gull,” he cried, “She will come back. Tell her
not to go. Look upon my gentle calm.”
And I was part of the sea, and believed.
You sat with the sea all that day, felt, heard,
listened his song of calm, until the clouds
pulled across the sun, though he fought them,
they were angry, and dark. The sea tried,
and tried to hold his calm but the dark
clouds and wind were joined, and the waves
swelled, and louder, crashed, higher and soon,
you were trembling again, and left. I was sorry.
And the sea still cries for you.
and then there was you,
and shadows bowed and carried daisies,
for the sun returned and sung the sky
to my blue. maples and oaks whispered,
wove their leaves in the breeze, throwing
dancing dapples of sunlight around me.
and i laid my wildflower days in your music,
wrapped like summer and water’s float,
ten thousand balloons, each one called hope,
stayed floating in my new sky,
because there was you.
i got on a plane (i didn’t)
to look you in the eyes (you said don’t come)
and the sun danced with me (it was raining)
flowers floating, tender embrace (lying alone)
you wouldn’t let go, you breathed me (sobbing silence)
and held, and held, and held (let go)
waiting turned to love (wait)
we are one (alone)
little boy and little girl
met under the oak tree.
he gave her the sky
and an empty box.
she put them inside.
closing her eyes, she
smelled blue and heard
light linger by the boy.
and she gave him wind
and float of tomorrows.
gravity listened and smiled,
dreams of then and now
remembered, and within
embrace stayed. and the
core of all was poetry.
love between sisters
through the hills, a melody of bubbles,
rocks, and reasons. Bare December
trees look down on honest, leafy blankets
covering rocky ground. Follow the call
of moving water; it speaks of patience
and travels that never end, only pick up
leaves to carry along the way. Moss
wraps rocks in green warmth, whispers
them secrets of softness and holding on.
And then, the light filters gently, with hope,
kissing the water into swirls and drops,
sounds of you everywhere.
I laugh, I cry,
I run in and out
of dark forests
still you stay
I cherish the sun
but weep when
the sea takes her
still you stay
I smile at stars
why they leave
still you stay
I sing in colors
but curse darkness
when it scares me
still you stay
I walk the beach
breathe the sea
but must always go
still you stay
I live warmth
but dissolve trembling
when the cold comes
still you stay