Cool Wisdom

The luxury of attraction
is an experience layered
with emotion settling into the stony decay
of gravel and sand
and finally the fine mist
of the body that wakes to water
and explodes with thunder

the electricity of clouds
and heat and the horizon meeting
shocking even at the most extraordinary times.

Solstice of summer,
the beginning of the end,

 is just around the corner
and the sweltering gasps of humidity
wrap endlessly around my legs
and stick in my throat
where a common sigh
or simple melody
might suggest
relief.

Hoping for nothing,
I stretch my arms above my head
hoping for some cool wisdom
to descend on my soul;

I have found this intuition
in stranger positions.

If you were that man,
the one sitting with the books
looking smart and kind,

I might walk up to you
at your table
and reintroduce myself to you.
Shock myself at new boldness.
Invite you out for lunch
at a park,
of for a swim at twilight,
or start to tell you all the stories
I have saved for just this chance
not to fall,
but instead
to rise above myself,

fully awake.

Passing Time

The blackbirds and crows
walk the lengths and depths
of my gardens and yard

each morning and evening.

They do not trill and let their voices
quaver like a thrush or grossbeak.
The drama is not in the sound for them,
but in the movement of their bodies
on foot

searching like shoppers
lost in the market,
waiting to find inspiration
in food or  with strangers in the aisles
of produce or near the bakery.

They tread the grass perimeter 
looking for bugs and drink the silence of dew
on single blades of grass
until the sun burns the wetness of the new day
into vapor making the light decay

with the sweetness
of all that meditation
and in the mystery
of passing time.

Weighless Cost of Joy

In the morning
when my head chatters
with the touch of night's hand

my breath is the rasp
that smooths the edges
and corners of the mind.

Inhaling with force to clear
all the garbled fear

and each exhalation
builds the wings
that will let me soar.

Thrill me.
Push me to the edge
of all knowing
so that I might launch
into the air like angels
on the faith
that the weightless
cost of joy
is simple grace
and courage.

Surfaces of Survivors

Soften your gaze
and release the pressure of the day
by falling to your knees
and letting yourself drop
into your breath,
past your body
and just drift along the shore
of mindless peace.

The leather hold
you have taken
on your life
is enough to break it
in two.

Give it away
like the potter
who glazes the pot
with metals and minerals
and allows the heat
of the fire to break
what must be broken;
wait silently until it is time
to touch
the cool
burnished surfaces
of the survivors--

a relief
at the chance
to start anew.

Saving Myself

Shred my belief,
fiber by fiber,
in everything that was.
Remove it
like the sheep
sheared in spring;
pink under the dirty folds
and ready for new growth.

Cut me close so that I might start fresh
with nothing but the essentials
nearest my heart;
just in time for birth
and wrinkles of time
to stare into the others' eyes.

I am a shard of myself already.

Lost so long ago
in the shadows
that seemed to hold
the truth and so much joy;
distant laughter
that I could never find.

I foolishly shared my spirit self
only to be robbed and left
alone at the side of the path.

But today,
in the shell
of all that I might be,
I smile
and know
that only I
can save myself.

I am my own shepherd
keeping watch at the crest
of the hill.

Communion

The danger has passed
on most days now.

There is little worry
about the need for building fences
to keep the predators
away from the weak.

The guard can sleep
as only I walk the perimeter
like a guide
giving a tour
to those interested
in history
rather than
reenactment
of some suffering
in the past.

I gladly sit with my water
and a bit of bread
alone with a smile
to keep me company
marveling at the good fortune
I have found
in the communion
with myself.

In the peace that is within
and all around me.

Ghosts

Soak my spirit
in fragrance of a day like today
where grass and air fill my nose with scent
like sweat on the collar of a shirt
and with the history
of every traveler that has stepped
past this place
captured in that smell.

Conversations cross with speed
in these breezes,
a neighbor or a lover
nearly missing each other
most days.

In this moment,

right now,

I am here and talking to myself.
In the same moment the mind tunes in

knowing

we are all ghosts,
simple specters,
of so many lives.

I have drifted
past myself again today,
or is it you,
or is it my mother
or your mother.

Perhaps it is all the women
who have ever loved us

that mother
left standing and smiling
at the left shoulder
waiting for someone
to need her like I need
that much love.

I will place my hand
in that hand
and walk
quietly home.