A to Z

The alphabet
of these days of healing
flows like honey
from the source
of all sweetness.

I am an acrobat
gathering silks
around my ankles
and wrists--
not to bind myself,
but to fly
free of all the surprises
that blindsided me
in other occupations;
obsessions that grew tired
of the will
needed
for this much
attention.

I am indigo.

I am a melange
of kindnesses
and kisses.

I am nocturnal
and as plush as
morning coffee
with raw sugar
and cream.

I am ready
to jettison
the contents of
every other life
I have
had
to carry

and
leave them behind
with ceremonious zeal.

The Seeds of Honey

Bees buzz
on the inner line
of my lips.

I feel the energy of the earth
luminous with the force of light
ready to emerge from a single seed.

Peas are ready to be planted as the moon
escapes into the darkness--
that succulent place
where the roundness of spring
will capture the sweetness of honey--
green engorged
with the swiftness
of one season.

I gasp
at the simple outline
of plum blossoms,
redolent with a longing
for the swollen heat of summer.

Forgive me.
I have gazed ahead
at the pages of the next chapter.

I skip to the golden relief
of the harvest
already gorging myself
with the sweetest fruit;
embuliant, like a school girl,
trying on her school clothes
before the first day of fall.

The woman in me
slows to the pace
of one single day.

I open the soil with my fingers
and coax life,
waking at my touch
like the hum
of the hive
making music--

the unfolding
of delicate
pink petals
and the abundant
absolute
of this much hope.

The Price of Spring

The price of spring,
a bargain
compared to
what we have been through.

Pollen and the golden dust
of all those nights gazing at winter
stars
now float lightly
onto the fine hairs
at the edge of your lips.

Lick them
from the uncontrollable slumber
you have been in and yawn
as morning,
and so much loving light,
wakes the deep cavities of each cell
and reminds you
you are worthy
of each grain
of precious
life
you
are
given.

A gift
that cannot be
returned.

Green

Chiffon.
Lime.
Springtime Rain.
Rhubarb.
Electric lightning.
Pea pod.
Light.
Dark.
April Branches.
Sage.
Chive.
Parsley.
Blue green.
Green blue.
Grecian green.
Beach glass.
Envy.
Dill.
Green tea.
Seaweed.
Sea Grass.
Norway spruce.
Spring Valley.
Atlantic.
Soft.
Honeydew.
July garden.

Paradise.
Paradise.
Paradise.

Prayer

Place the palms of your hands
together over your heart,
close your eyes
and let all dreams
and prayer
take you
wherever
you will go.

Confess all there is to confess
and just release your grip
on what you thought was truth.

There is nothing
but the emptiness here
in that narrow passage
between joy
and despair.

Single Blossom

Discover phlox,
or maybe a single
delicate grape hyacinth
you didn't know
was strung like beads
from an invisible thread
around your neck,
and you will learn about
mystery.

The garden planted by the last keeper
of this little plot
said vows in this place.
She birthed her babies near
and taught them to laugh and walk here.
The girl children
twirled in skirts and danced
in the petals of apples.

And now, you cast your lot
to the breezes and promise yourself
that joy will come every day--the invisible
and the raging beauty.

New tulips bloom in early April, red and striped
with white.
New lullabies are sung here
for boys who will listen.
And there is dreaming beyond union
to that present moment where all can
love what is right in front,
where the heart can so easily
see.

On the horizon the pink haze of glass
and the sturdiness of steel
cast my prayers
to the feathers of sky
and to the eager mouth,
a daffodil
waiting to kiss
one delicate day.

Racing the Wind

Race the wind
like you did on the edge of the earth
out West where one learns
to harness the light
and the speed of snow
just to survive.

Race the wind before you forget
what it is like
to believe in God
and what it is to trust
the stories of neighbors--
always knowing how to gather
the truth of yourself
in the reflection
of a mirror
in a single
sideways glance.

Remember, in the extremes of wind,
that matches extinguish quickly
when the breeze of breath
takes the time to blow.

Turn slowly toward another sunset
and greet the sky
that remembers
the great history
of all light
and the change
that is in every moment.
In forgiveness,
he watches all lovers
eventually stumble and fall.

The body can only race
for so long
before the heat it makes
overtakes any optimism
one might have had.

The sound of birds
becomes the gospel
in the rafters of the church
stripping away the bandages
of any hope you had of winning,
and leaves your feet bloody
and bare.

Gratefully,
faith leaves you alone
and running
against the empty threat
of all moving air
and the luxury of time.