my garden forgives
all my sins
neglect
lazy indifference
impatient expectation
roses climb and clamber
fixed on fun and chaos
neverminding the rules
of convention
pretty
is not the same
as fragile
this place feeds
bug and snail
soul and spirit
bird and body
there are no straight lines
no honest assumptions
no pretense
or promise
beneath this sky dome
night temple
and you will always
get your hands
dirty
you can always get in
if you have the right key
but the sun glare might blind you
and the scent will intoxicate
and you will find yourself
asleep on the ground
in a field filled with poppies
red white and blue
flag waving
petal cloud sky
your wounds will change color
scars will form
bones will knit
holes and pain and fear
become distant memories
red and blue
will fade to violet
you might smell lavender
or the pepper of lupine
monkshood will tower over you
baptisia will offer shade
in the rose-filled secret garden
behind thorns and cold stone fences
if you have the right key
you can always get in
on a broken heartsick mandolin
behind this curtain of sunlight
some would call glare
her tears mix with dewdrops
her dress is mistaken
and the wind in her hair
makes her whimper
even as she nods in the breeze
at all sailors passing
just in case
just in case
beauty is meaningless
to a flower
folly prescribed by
obscure tradition
and those who destroyed
her ability to run
but she stands and she sings
and her heart is made
from one shade of golden
heavy ballast to keep her
grounded
ripe punishment
for hollow dreams
of dancing
.
.
.
.
because that’s where i live
just now
and that island is still
a long ways away
and from where i sit
i can see the bottom
all swirling mud and nibbly-toe fish
i see the sun glinting off steel iron
dead weight placeholder
settling down into dawn
and about to be moments
of absolutely imperfect clarity
because nobody wants to be perfect
no how
and this water is cool
and my arms are so tired
all that rowing my way
’round this big blue circle
hollow bowl
amateur can’t hold me in
life cloche
i think
i’m just going to sit here
(beneath this glass)
and laugh for a while
this is the silence
you sing about
echoes bounce off
the fragile egg
you hold
in one hand
sister bits
broken
at your feet
yesterday
owes you nothing
time pays for itself
each morning
tomorrow
waits for you
to color in the lines
growth is not
profound
but a function
of survival
there is nothing
to do
but listen
.
.
.
.
icarus played the molten fool
at mother nature’s ball
and we watched with fascination
as he tumbled to the ground
holding our breath until the sun
returned the gold of favor
and i crawl through this dirt
like an old brown beetle
scarab girl
warmth seeker
latent love hunter
pulling weeds and pressing
white through old lace curtains
looking for a way to singe my
skin and dress my bones
as seed and root are married
in eternity’s hollow middle
i no longer feel the need
to ask permission
.
.
.
.
some i’ve known for years and others
i’ve yet to be introduced to
i’m walking down this road
that always leads me home
remembering faces and places
and voices long forgotten
whispers on wind telling tales
no one ever stops to hear
the white waving flag of
existential discourse
extend your hand
take my place
lend an ear
a shoulder
an old pair of shoes
this is the forest we all live in
trees and concrete and wisps
of tired translucent souls singing
songs less music than ballad
into the surrender of sky and grey
and blue smoke metaphysical ribbons
all these lost stories folding deep
into rivers and seas and oceans
returning later, much later
to rain down upon us
.
.
.
.
i need to eat and you’re not hungry
we are mind mirror
life miners
asking hope to keep promises never made
i feed you prawns for breakfast
and there is never enough
you are sage and i am curry
you are silence and i am angry
you have too much and i
get lost a lot
of course I don’t blame you
for accepting what was offered
i am
quiet
standing
balanced
blown but not destroyed
by the way of things
you need to eat and
i am hungry
plate, fork
salt, knife
round table
.
.
.
.
dream spelunker
heart miner
blind digging mind vole
my cave is darker
than your black eye
deeper than your promise
and i turn from your
ancillary embrace
always faster
than the glint of love
you fake with your
mirror shard necklace
shark tooth impostor
as talisman of never
with your riptide amulet
hope is a survivor
and you are false idol
idle empty orb
and once again
you’ve forgotten
i have wings
.
.
.
.
and i keep walking
sun beat
dry skin
lost compass
weary
in the distance
i hear a crow cackle
coyote call warning
snake row corn row snake row
bony knees cracking
knocking bruises
in time with each step
i have this dress
bare shoulders
rude toes
and this box
i carry
filled with feather and bone
there is no place
to settle into
no shelf to hold
my treasure
the sky hum hovers
peripheral
heat sunk
golden
weightless
i just keep walking
.
.
.
.
