Never Mind

The succor of the mind
smuggles thoughts of disquieted comfort

where bondage often lives
and is anointed with doubt.

I am lost in a body
that will eventually fail me

even as I stroke the edges
and locks to sooth so much suffering-

neutered and erased
by a soul that seeks the path of truth.

Awake To the Sky

I am crippled
by the way spring saturates my mind

compressing the thoughts of winter
and all that frozen grief, white and unending,

rain nuzzling the end of my bed
near toes and dreaming.

If the sun returns again tomorrow
and the bright yellow of daffodils smile

I may launch into laughter
knowing I will go to the sea

and dance on the wet sands so alone
I may take flight with every feather

awake to the sky
and the warmth
of all these changing winds.

Spring Poem

The twitch of birches
in the back yard have begun to green
and hang their flowers and fruit
like a chandelier
holding the pretense
of summer submerged
in the delicate white branches;

donning a dress for a wedding
on the slender frame of beauty itself
waiting to dance another dance
with the earth and sky,
nervous as a bride
just touched by her beloved.

Morning Salvage

Trying to salvage
the radiance of mind
in another morning where the fissure of fear
crawled next to my skin at the darkest hour
on the premise that I might find some shining

promise of dust
and sweat
and the blood that moves
from nothing
into everything we ever shared.

Red as a door
on a New Year's day,
freshly painted
and welcoming the stranger
to the table overflowing
with anxious breath
and doubts as ripe
as a sugary, sticky fig.

The Prophet

It takes everything to harbor this shame
of taking wrong turns toward hope
and investing in false gods.

My sacrifices have fallen
like soldiers on the battlefield,
torn and bloodied,
unloved and without respect
for my longing to please.

It is true
that the prophet is a begger
in her own home town.
The locals have nothing to compare this insanity to
but the common fool in her stumbling
with words that make no sense
in the context of so many losses.

Today I will dress myself
in sackcloth and ashes,
comb my hair with my fingers,
and wash my face again

quietly demanding
to finally find someone
who will listen.