that's mrs. mediocrity to you

we mark the passage of
time like it matters

your sand
my glass
our history

none of it can be claimed
owned
held onto

still
you extend
cupped hands
to a clear blue sky

trying to catch
the simple version
of this story

but sand becomes glass
and i see through you

this is the clearing
in the forest of forever

the sun warms my skin
even as it’s magnified

neither one of us
wants to burn

yet we lie here
singing songs
of ritual
and habit

until we’re buried
grain by grain

side by side

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when you can laugh at your own insignificance
then you begin to understand

the world turns and you turn with it
we are all cogs and we are all stars

it was never your job to be a beautiful flower
but always your promise to set seed

the future is a rhyme you cannot hear
written from the way you stand today

refuse to cower
refuse to break
refuse to be defined

the sky is the mirror of forgiveness
there is no reflection and no
perfect light

you can grow in the darkest of corners
stretch yourself out
be alive in the paradox of possible

the wind will take you
or you will melt back into
earth’s wide open arms

the rain will cleanse you
not of your sins
but at least of the dust you carry

the sun will burn you
and the moon will steal pain
from the beauty of your wounds

tomorrow is only an idea

and you’ve already had plenty
of those

hang on
hang on

let go

the release
will be

your nirvana

your white knuckles
have always
been bone

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and you climb on the back of that beast
without hesitation
singing some song about how good
always conquers evil

and i admire your tenacity

wanting to sing along with you

but some days i see darkness
everywhere i look

and it’s not even hidden
sitting right out there in the open
like a mouse on the edge of the road

and the hawk, the hawk is not evil
only hungry

and the storm, the storm is not evil
only angry

and the fire, the fire is not evil
only out of control

and the sky, the sky keeps returning

holding me down, tethered
even as i threaten to fly off the handle

there are always three doors
and i can never choose

no light creeps in
beneath those cracks

but that’s never true, really

there is always light
there is always darkness

the yin and yang of sanity
are always intertwined

two lovers on a bed of redemption

clinging to the light that pulls

delivers

offers up
the sacrificial shadow

and then you are gone

white horse

red cape

floating melting drifting

into an almost

invisible

sunset

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you were whispering something about vestibules
and i kept staring at the cloud that
reminded me of promises

music played softly in the corner of reprieve
but my feet stayed restless and
the anklet i wore like a young gypsy girl
jangled with pale pink impatience

you circled that white elephant for hours
pretending to ask for forgiveness
with a smile that’s always loaded

because you know how much i need deliverance
even as we both admit it is never yours to offer

and i kept throwing shiny bits to the curb
gifts for crows to covet, gather, hoard
this ring, that sequin, those tomorrows

your voice in my ear was a sunset of description
and i had nothing but rhyme to gift in return
but you kept wrapping and i kept smiling
at those clouds always changing

ever dancing

mirror making

i hold this day like a jewel in my palm
knowing soon enough
my gypsy soul will be trapped inside
with fire

this morning there was rain
pulling moisture from the air
in a long grey exhale

everything is damp

and i sit here weaving
magenta colored bracelets

while you dance above my head
with your promise

kiss me over the garden gate

i would, if i could reach
the beauty in your title

instead i sit at your feet
and water you with gratitude

the sky feeds me
and i am always hungry

you know this and still,

you bend slowly
touch your lips to mine

somewhere high above
i see a cloud
shaped like winter

the cat drops a cardinal
at my feet

forcing me to remove it
or watch him eat

all the while
in my arms

i carry
your bouquet

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p.s. the flower in the photo really is named kiss me over the garden gate

the waltz of time has fewer ripples
than the calamity of youth

there is much to remember
and little to miss

except the key to everything
and even then, it’s nice to know
that one exists

i have a dancing map,
you know, the kind that shows
where to place your feet

two pair speckled across the page
in a sneeze of pattern
meaning nothing without music

i’m always so busy listening
i forget to follow directions
until i am left alone, arms flailing
on the opposite side of the room

this is the dance i was born to do
not the wallflower so much as the floor
each step you take leaves an imprint
and each night i crack the code
of your travels

i could follow you then
find my way home or at least
back to bed

but i have bells on my ankles
and this tattered ancient skirt
and the moon plays an old piano song
with her broken, bony fingers

i am night and you are shadow
turn and spin
turn and spin

i need the light of stars
upon my skin

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all day long i listen to the song
of grasshoppers, crickets, and beetles

after a time, i can hear nothing else

the buzz of a hummingbird sipping nectar
from windowbox purple petunias
shifts me from there to here

again

and again

and i marvel at wings
quite literally
spun from sugar

you drive into the world of concrete jungle

you drive into the world

you drive

away

as i walk these paths
choked with weeds and chewed up leaves

pulling a cloak of clouds over your shoulder
to remind me that the stars are always lit

and i am here

here

with only these crows for company

some days they tell me of your travels

some days they carry me to grace

some days they peck at my shiny rings
as i reach for the sky with lost fingers

some days
they bring me
white feathers

held in beaks flecked with blood, stardust

and gold

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Note: I am having problems commenting on WordPress blogs for some reason… but I am still reading!!

movement is what captures your attention

i fly away (in crooked lines)
to dance amongst the pleiades
and their ancient choreography
of hide and seek

i am dust

always there

visibly invisible

one clear tear
containing more
than this river
of flight

i can’t ask you
to understand
my fluttering

i can’t stay still
long enough
to burnish sanity
opaque

my universe is trite and monumental

i name it tree
and you laugh
with the music
of lost moonlight

i am a sliver
beneath your skin

festering for freedom

you name me calliope
and refuse to remove me

this is the seed
of remembrance
growing petals
of forgotten

i am blind and you are hollow

each night i fold
a dozen paper birds

and at midnight i listen for your drum

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pretty pictures
telling prism stories
and so much gets lost
in lead and separation

everything you see
is colored
by comparison

complement and
analogy

pattern and shade

rendition and
supplication

you have to listen

the wind
seeps in
between pane
and crack

the truth
is always
in the whispers

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adaptation is the mother of sanity

you think i’m wrong hiding beneath
this blanket of light
absorbing everything you say

my shadow has hot, hard edges

nothing gets blurred from black to white
you are blue and i am syllable
stitched together by frustration’s empty needle

there is no breeze to humble this silence

and the sun creeps by in patterns
geese and ring, cabin and star
pieced-together stories left unread

we are puzzles in a frame of empathy

one day soon, it will rain again
wash us clean and bleed our colors together
until we’ll have to squint to define

the outlines of distinction

even as they fade

away