Thursday, April 18, 2013

Wind blown

Wind blown…March into April

Low fog lifts, day light
descends, moist leavings tracing
each step into spring.


Big Dipper—floats in
dark skies, turns, tilts, never fails
to point the way home.


Promised fog arrives,
blanket-shadows morning light.

But for one west-placed window,
ablaze with a different dream.


Breath as sound…

suggestions of elegance, to be sure,
but the old masters took note
of a certain radiance—visceral, joyous.


What we offer over
in the world
is the whole of our living,

every time—our mistake
is thinking
it’s not.


The poet strives
to make words say
as much as he would
have them say

and trusts 
that desire they ride
that makes them say
all the more.


what winds of circumstance
pull from our hands,
frees us


Glow burn—a sudden rush of rightness
splays light through dark

disappeared—forgetting words
that would write this right,

I draw these instead.


Studies in light ask
for light-handed inquiry.


Watching the inmates…

the open page takes
everyone, just as they are.
Heads bow, words begin.


The body drags itself
out of sleep these days, full
with windswept pollens.

Miniscule puffs of life
circulate, settle and collect—like
the weight of age.


Time bends—deep purple
strokes in the wisteria,
darker than before.


April 8th and already
multiple pages,

meanderings of a mind
set free at the tip of a pen

to simply speak—simply
to speak simply, of itself enough.


April 13th

The celebration

The day opens on tides of quiet light
and shadowless blue—hushed bird calls
echo blessings already underway.


For Erin and Edwin

The range of light

to laughter,
to smiled embrace, 
close-knit warmth,

to the firm press of lips
and casual words of tenderness
spoken in witness

of the tenuous reach of darkness
as eyes meet in the glow of love.


To  Leslie—afterthoughts

To think—this spontaneous
ingenuity so troublesome

holds unopened avenues
of collective salvation,

one whole one at a time.


to make inside meet out.


Faith—trusting sincerity,
wherever we find it.



for even just one voice
among the many varied turnings
of that light that outshines the sun
just so.