Haiku II

I carry soft wood
from shed to darkened kitchen.
This path is my peace.

Haiku

Snow falling at dawn,
I long for your breath on me.
Sun melts all this light.

Reborn

If I don’t look back
it may be possible
to fall in love again
at the end of the world,
at the edge of what we know
of this world.

By then I may be speaking to myself
and be able to forgive myself
for ignoring the things that matter—
for living a life just short of happiness,
where open secrets cloud common sense,
the deception of truth,
keeping a distance between me
and my beautiful hurting heart.

The next time around
I will make no excuses
for loving what is right
about laughter and the blue
of forget-me-nots.

The promise of friendship
will be the marriage of souls
I’ll celebrate in white.

Words will honor actions
and actions will bow down
to the music of words.

This necessary guilt
who walks arrogantly beside me
like some global villager
will disappear in the spring
like a snow angel
lovingly released
from her place on earth,

She will be forgiven.
She will be reborn as innocence.
She will be love.

The Equation of the Breath

At dawn the mist cools
over the dark waters of the mind.
A magic carpet of native thoughts
wrestle with nothing
in this hour
of meditation.

There is no happy or sad here.
Only the moment--
the equation of the breath
that calculates sight
and grace.

I stand on this water’s edge
each morning sizing up my lives
fossilized in amber,
knowing soon the seas will wash
over me again
and I will take flight
from this heavy earth,
with the angels and new wings,
toward sweet freedom
of only soul.

The Gift

A lock of the hair
that spends her days and dark nights
smoothing the curve of my thin neck
like the wind gentle in the branches
of a willow.

I tie her with a red ribbon
for luck and as a reminder
of her royal lineage of joy.

The sensation of finger tips
near the edges of a mouth tired of talking.

The knowledge and wealth of kings
content to walk in gardens with children
and wisest elders quoting ancient poetry.

The yellow of filtered dawn
and the absolute blue of twilight.

Stars.
Let me gather stars
into baskets of longing
and set them drifting
in your happiest dreaming.

The laughter of my belly
carved with hope
to place her warm
next to your compassionate kindness.

Turn your palms skyward
toward the heavens of early winter
and I will bless you,
take your sweet face in my hands
and guide you safely to tomorrow
in one slow dance of peace.

Four seasons
and all the direction spirits
will turn their good gazes
stopping time to watch you
accept the gift of your birth rite.