Planting Lavender Seeds in April

Egg cartons
make wonderful places
to plant lavender seeds in April.
Plant impatiens, and the nearly
invisible dust of camomile
that will become miniature daisies
in June. Try basil
and cosmos
and the strength
of spinach.

Fill the cardboard with organic soil
bought cheap at a discount store
for one thin dollar.

The seeds will be so small
in the palm of your hand--
pluck them
with a tweezer
and place the thick
memory of summer
precisely into the warm
dirt in that airy space of a sun room
and exhale while you water
each cell with the blue, glass
water bottle.

These are your prayers
waiting to blossom
like it was the last day
for that much beauty.

Cable

I thought I'd like it,
watching hundreds of channels
at any time of the day
or night;
cooking shows and travel,
soap operas,
hockey and basketball,
news and the Weather Channel,
movie channels,
fishing shows,
PBS.

I don't really know
why I missed it.
The buttons
on the remote
confusing.
The selection
doesn't really keep
my attention
as much as my gardens in summer
and cooking my own food
or knitting my own socks
in the winter.

I think I will cancel,

consider it a separation
of convenience.

No love lost
and much freedom
to gain.

Everyday Mystery

What everyday mystery is this?
What circling back into the soul
by way of the maze of mind
and body
longing to be released
into the brilliant stars.

I hold your words
in the shining palms
of my hands--

a map
pointing the way
toward a million miles
since I last gathered
the peace of your sweetness.

The heat of the sun
frozen
on the dark side
of darkness.

The exhale
still waiting for the lungs
to discover
what life
they were missing.

Just before realizing
I wanted to breathe
this much.

Sleep

Curled on my left side
I settle into dreaming.
Sleep, my sweet new friend.

Almost Enough

Run hot water
into suds at the kitchen sink
and let the sponge
come clean
as you squeeze it
between thoughts,
fresh heat
to scour spaghetti and sauce
from the usual white and blue
pattern; the caked-on remnants
of joy over dinner.

This mindless place.
This simple chore
of loving the souls
who sat around the table
to say a few words
about the day
is enough.

Your reflection
in the black window
is weary
at the hour
when night walks in
the door.

This presence,
this welcome darkness,

this companion of not knowing
what comes next,

is always
almost enough.

A Few Words

A few words,
only the light sheet,
damp and soothing
on a hot night,
skin slightly sweating
near August.

Such comfort remembering
that cool drink of water
at night
before
surrendering
to sleep.

A few loving words
to end and bless the growing
unbalance of a summer day.

The hand
touching the cheek
of a child ready
to run again
as soon as the sun
is captured in the shade
of a heavy oak tree.

A moment
not lost
in the smoldering days
of almost no words.

Fly Away Home

for Julie

A single feather drifts
from the nearly empty feeder
as the light streams
golden in the late
afternoon fire.

You've seen it
a million times before,
but today
you decide
to chase after
the downy tuft
of air and travel
toward the open sea,

give up the body
and drift
mindlessly home
like so many winged creatures
have want to do.

A humming bird waits,
hovers and prepared to fight
battles you could not.

The cardinal becomes
just another dawn singer.

The crane
looks back, modestly,
and beckons
your truth to follow--
a disciple with no heavy stone
to roll away
from the tomb.

Only the desire
to fly away home

remains.