New Year for a Writer

Write.
Just write and see what comes from that place
in the middle. That place where
the heart channels the soul to the universe
for examination.

Greet the day with words
on the page
where ink opens you
on the white paper and allows blood
to drip as pure joy into a space
where the clear mind is free
to make love to the curves of a syllable
and the frustration of punctuation
leaves on a moan--
of nothing.

Plunge deeply into the idea of love
with no concern for time
or the obligation to the world.
Here words play on the skin,
run fingers delicately across
the slippery sex of the finer points of argument
and bring chills to the curve of the back
before release.

The breath will not be lost here,
but captured in the arms of reason
and then rejected
like a rigid boundary
that must be crossed
to experience air in the lungs
or dreaming of the color
of the inside of truth.

I wake to the sound of my pen scratching
across the flesh of this page
and laugh at the whispering
no one will hear
but this lover.

This beautiful face greets me
with unconditional abandon
asking only to please my every desire
to live fully present to the sea
and the sun
and the smell of the earth opening in spring
for the seeds that will become a feast
and nourish the hungry soul
that lives lean in the depths of more words
than will ever escape from the ribs
and blossom, exhaled, from hope.

The light of the day
arrives again
and the pages
filled with morning
roll over and make room
for the business of the day.