Speckled

This new life is speckled
and has downy feathers;
fluffy and so very soft
they catch the slightest breezes
of fresh air.

I squint through eager eyes
yet can barely see
the edges of my  humble nest
and hunger rumbles
in the depths of my being
warning of some want
that I never knew I had.

How do I prepare myself
for the spaces that will glide
far below in the green
and unknown places?

I have seen others preen
and make themselves presentable;
adjust their heavenly uniforms
so beautifully,
to ready the threads
that hold them in the sky
using the tip of a beak
to adjust each hollow
brush of sturdiness.

I have almost forgotten.

My bones are hollow.
My courage is growing.
My heart has broken open
and is a fledgling
once again. 

Unannounced

Find the lover
at the edge of my bed,
find him,

with whiskers

near his smile

and breath
that flutters
with the bandy
of laughter

and I might clap my hands
with joy to discover I am not
alone in these sheets.

Not long ago
I was closing my eyes
peacefully in prayer
imagining the end
of all days

and yet,
today of all days,
I am reminded
by the yellow wings
of a torn butterfly
and ten others by her side

that to fly
never again
is a very long time.

Blessings often arrive
unannounced.

Awake

Dizzy with joy
my blood boils
with excitment.
My cheeks flush
with the force of life
from smiling at the blue
skies above me,
the freedom
to breathe
just as everyone
is entitled to do.

I tingle.
I shake a little
from my feet
to the crown
of my head.
Alive.
Awake.
Awake.
Awake.

There is nothing
that stands in the way
of dancing,
of singing out loud,
of chanting the name of God
until heaven opens
and asks me in.

When God Calls

Since it happens so quietly
most days,
usually before dawn
or in the middle of the night
like labor starting
for the first time,

when God calls to us
sometimes it is better not to chatter,
but rather, to listen
like the enchanted bird
watcher with ebony
viewing glasses
on our bellies
waiting for a sighting
of something rare.

God's voice is subtle
like the color of slate
or the glimpse of a shadow-
unless you know
what you are looking for.

But once you hear it,
the tornado of truth
will not be stopped.
God will take hold of you
by the ears
and drag you to the front
of the classroom
looking for the answers
you've studied for
with all your heart
and with the strength
of  each of the bones
of your hands
and with the cage
of bone and muscle
that are your ribs--
that make you breathe
and capture
most of the sobs of joy
you cannot hold back.

The cacophony
of this bird song
that circles your soul
is like angels
delivering cake
to the starving
on platters
of gold.

It is the miracle
of this invitation,
to this banquet,
that we are all waiting
to open.

It is this voice
we cannot wait
to return to
for the sound
of a single
note.

Twisting

This knot of weather,
this island of storm churning
with the heat of early summer,
sends wisps of hair
at the back of my neck
and near my face
curling
as perspiration beads
at my collar.

Declare it the growing season
with this first storm
where sirens blast warnings
to take cover--
nearer the pungent smell
of moss the better.

I am twisting in my chair;
unable to settle in
and watch these grey-green clouds,
so full of rain and electricity,
my mind frantic
for something
to anchor myself to.

I am used to running for cover
and hiding in dark spaces
under the surface of the earth
when the air fills with this much anger.
I do not know how to stand
with my hands on my hips
and let the winds
take the fear away
with each bead of prayer.

That is a new kind of worship
in this land with broken
stone fences.

Let wisdom come
and hold me solidly
in the arms of truth.
Let the  skies tear open
and the rains
wash me clean
until I am ready
to be twisted;
wrung out
and hung out
to dry.

With luck
morning
will find the horizon
and wake me again.

Outsider

 The art I make glimmers
and glows from a space
where embers of the soul
shimmer at the edge of each night.

The brush of an eyelash against the sky
or the rush of the wind under the wings
of a frightened bird
are enough to bring life
to this page.

I stand before you,
an outsider,
and watch the sun setting
on this day.  I gather the light
into my hands and stir it with starlight
praying for the  nothingness
to overtake me
and let me step
away from the illusion
of all these words.

I am the stranger
to so many
who will not see me
even when they stare at me
in the mirror.
Even when they learn my name
they soon forget what it is
and fall asleep
as if there were endless
exhalations
after breathing in.

When the Fireflies Return

The gathering of souls
around a table where luck
brings delicious food to share
and neighbors laugh together
and find new stories to weave
is feast enough for a hot day
at the end of May

but then the air cools
and the night sinks into lovely
darkness and magic arises
from the field across the way
as the fireflies return.

This morning the aspergillum
sprinkled Holy Water
on babies and elderly ladies
who startled a little
at the wonder
of water.

And I cried for joy
in the House of God,
like I often do,
knowing that tongues and fire
are not far from the doors
of my heart
and that the languages
of all my lives
flow in each tear
that falls down my cheeks
and into these sacred days.

What else can I do
but smile? Mosquitos bite
my calves and I shiver
in the moist air
of almost summer.
What else can I do
but  fall to my knees
and give thanks
for this day
that blinks with the sea
of iridescent flashes
in the field
that makes my home
remember mystery
every day.