Before Sleep Overtakes Us

The way light shines through your smile
is refraction sipping calmly on tea
under the moon's great pull to the sea.

Meditate here, kneeler or cushion sacred space,
and you
grinding molars for the proof
that the body can only carry so much burden
before sleep overtakes us.

Chart your course
past the refusals and human frailties.
Record your music on the tablet of time
so that I might sing with you
forever.

Jack White - Love Interruption

Lingual States of Sleep

Time means nothing on this morning of early waking
as I look to the screen, blinking at the face of a clock
enameled with age.

I genuflect to that ritual that defies time,
so engrained in my being that I can't help myself
any more than I can resist my next breath
or the firing of the impulses of the thoughts
that line up
moment after moment
for attention.

The moon is setting
outside to the west
and I am reminded
of the soft animal of my body
loving what she loves.

This hibernating self
rolls over, yawns into comfort
and into the warm and lingual states of sleep,
eliding the consonants and vowels of days
into the whispers of forgotten foreskin
and dreaming deeply
of Love's sacred power.

January Below Zero

Snarl at the brilliant night sky,
the moon a ball teasing the dog
mad with gnats gnawing at his ears
and eyes so tired of paws that scratch
deeply into the soul of all of us.

The magic of the woods, gnome-like play,
is lost in the still cold of January
below zero, hiding,
waiting as if we didn't know
the depths of sorrow
as the temperature dips low.

Watch the corners of this dark place.
We shift nervously, expect something sinister
and we whisper to each other
a plan so far away from this day.

In the next chapter
we'll gather stones at the threshold
of the hereafter, sweet as a hand
around a cup of hot tea,
steam rising and cooling
on my face before
little things, words
slip like love
from between my lips.

Inara George-Fools Work

When Love Belongs

When love belongs to everyone
the current is strong,
pulling us under as if we've fallen
out of some spiritual canoe
to gestate in the waters of the universe.

When love belongs to everyone
the blemishes of our sins are erased
so that our flesh is as clear as new wine,
clean as the blade of a hatchet striking a sapling
for the first time.

When everyone belongs to love
we join our hands and stare joyfully into the faces
of our brothers with smiles that invite us to laugh
and  into the faces of suffering
like all our sisters who need us
to cup our hands gently on their faces
and touch foreheads in forgiveness
for everything we cannot heal.

Together, in that loving kindness,
we release spirit into the universe
to fly mindlessly where we are needed the most.




current, canoe hatchet blemish gestate

The Kindness of So Many Strangers

In the bemusement of a smooth day
imagine yourself, virginal,  nestled
in the kindness of so many strangers

In this dreaming time,
imagine yourself walking in balance,
complemented
spirit self with cultivated daisies
and succulent cucumbers harvested
at sunset, ready to be  the center of the feast.


If we are lucky, you will remove the bemused vendor,
hand over the keys to the only home you have known
and slip into innocence like an otter down the banks
of warm and fragrant sands.

At the Junction of Charm and Joy

At the junction of charm and joy
stands a man with an accent  you can't quite identify.
He looks familiar and smiles with kindness,
his teeth give nothing away of potential deception or imperfection.

His attire is appropriate and well pressed
with no filth or unpleasantness to give away
the clues to your mistrust, your intuition sounding alarms
like a local thief walking down the street near the police station
everyone aware of his faults and weaknesses.

Ask him to take the envelope from his pocket.
Demand that he read the contents in full daylight.

Perhaps it is a poem, sweet with words that will convince you
of the possibilities of love.
Better yet, a contract backed up by a guarantee of authenticity,
proof that happiness can be had.
Reassurances in writing that you will not be duped again
by your need to be satisfied
by someone
or something
outside the surface
of your own skin.

Read it yourself
and weep as the ink dissolves
as if the thinness of all these promises
were smoke released from the lungs
of just another common dragon.

Before We Raise Our Glasses

At the feast you will serve in my honor
please first examine the arrows in your quiver
and fletch them with freshly found feathers
before my enemies and wicked seekers approach the table
with casseroles and steaming dishes filled
with the footprints of poison
that might, if we aren't careful, take us all.

On nights like these, the humidity of humanity
almost overcomes us with a powerful stench of flesh
and comical discharge, and yet, we bring the best wine
knowing it is what we must do.

Before we raise our glasses in celebration,
run your fingers along the length of these truths,
hand steady, eyes sharp, and aim secure,
so that we might be sure to hit the mark
if we must find our way out of the crowds
toward the open country and air
that we call home.