Translation

Sit next to me
in silent prayer
with your skin
delicately etched

examine the color
of my white covering
as if it was the most sacred text
to be handled with gloves,

carefully turning pages
worn thin by devotion
to finding meaning.

Nothing will be lost
in the translation
of the body
if you place your heart
at the center of the page

inhale ancient truths
waiting to be released
by your touch.

Servant Door

Starting from nowhere
I find myself believing in things
bigger than myself—
that fragile city
somewhere near home.

The dark is no longer
the servant door
at which I must enter,
invisibly,
but instead
becomes the gateway
of all knowing.

I have only to close my eyes for a moment
and the universe that gathers
in the grooves of your fingers
near the surface of my skin
erupts with the voltage of summer
storm on the edge
of still water.

Why then, live in doubt
of whom we must serve?

Believe in the sky
and the way love sits
at the base of the spine
waiting to be recognized
in laughter
or at the deep
echoing well
of eyes awake
and unafraid
to finally hold
your gaze.

At this open door
of acceptance
we will enter paradise—
entwined and smiling
at the promise
of thousands of tomorrows.

The Constitution of Winter

The constitution of winter
jingles in the trees
at the calm dawn.

Birds whose flight
keeps them constant in the cold,
twitter and chirp
with red squirrels
like shining crystals of light
and sound captured
in the moment
between sorting small logs
from heavy oak
into the sling I carry
to my hearth and the heat
that warms my belly and breath
where I sit
contemplating
the body
and the boundaries
of the mind.

In the quiet of my breath
I can see myself
sitting plain skinned
with no adornments.
I am stripped to the shell
of this dwelling
and only the fullness
of the spectrum
can enter safely
in peace.

So stark
this familiar
brilliance,
I blink
until my eyes water
tears of vibrant joy

and words trace the outline
of a smile,
the darkness
of an excited pupil,
the fine hairs
brushed with desire
at the curve of the neck,

and the memory
of the sound
of your voice
undoes me

as I follow the flight
of a smoky Junco
into the pines

where the meaning
of truth
in January’s expanding
white wave
is often found.

Talking to My Body

In this conversation
we begin at my feet
in the big toe
like it was the sun
at the center
of the universe
and all the little toes
planets circling
with a toenail for a moon.

Gather them in the growing darkness
like the beginning of a dream
that never ends
and place them gently
between the humming of the heart
and the glowing light of reason.

What meditation
would be complete
without the whispering mind
hoping to distract you
with a simple game of fate
like Rock, Paper, Scissors--
like Children, Lover, Daily Bread--
before you can bring the breath
to the bones of an ankle?

She is quieted
by the librarian's hush
of the nose inhaling coolness,
exhaling slightly warmer relief
from thinking.

Thinking about the color of the sky
or the tingle at the back of the neck--
but thinking then
about dropping the body
through the feet,
legs dissolving--
running out the bottom of the hourglass
until the buttocks and belly are focused--
the fire connected with the spirit.

Red cords longing to untie themselves,
release the body all together,
take flight from the chest and arms,
rising and falling at the evening knowledge--

waves of the voice calling,
singing to the third eye,
roots in the air--

the crown lifts to the stars
and we connect again
with the sun in the toes.

Thinking again of escape
from all knowing,
all temptation to talk to the stranger
who will require simple kindness.

Suddenly breathe
and fall into the depths
of silence.

Nothing is promised.
Nothing left behind.
Nothing to discover,
but the true self
across the table
as if sitting down
for tea.

The Taste of Honey

Synchronize your daydreaming
to the lighting of the stars
while you watch the blue moon rising
and you may find my hand
crossing the sky,
tempting fate.

If you are awake
you will see me
fingering this sweet, beautiful orb
hanging on the edge of the new year
like a droplet of fresh honey
to be placed on the tongue
for pleasure alone—
only to melt and glow
in the middle of my mouth.

Who am I
to be this bold,
to want this much happiness
all to myself?

Surely I am no goddess,
nor a woman of importance,
who will be forgiven for forgetting
my place in the dust.

Even so,
even with this warning
in the light of day,
I find you
with poetry
on your breath,
waiting eagerly
to kiss the lips
that have abandoned
the idea of sin
to sing the praises
of the truth
without shame
or fear of retribution.

Even the bee understands
what must be given
to prosper
at the edge
of such abundant
wilderness.

Sacred Space

Inhale December air
freshly washed with rain,
where snow was expected
and the sun surprises the eye
with new light
that was lost in fog
and the mist of melting
only hours before,
and you will know
my sacred space.

Trees stand tall here
and dare to reach for the heavens
only because their roots are planted—
have grown deeply down
into the veins of granite,
heavy anchors
to Mother Earth.

Breathe with me in the silence of this place
and you will suddenly find your belly touching mine,
skin exchanging oxygen through every pore,
the surface open
like cells absorbing
necessary nourishment.

Your soul shadow is painted
on the delicate walls
inside the cave of my body.
In this temporary temple
ancient symbols draw conclusions,
and poetry is written
in a language only we share
and must recite
before the dawn of waking
and at the rituals
welcoming the night
where we kneel before the alter
of each other,
gently touch the face of the blessed,
and embrace what we have learned
of peace.

Fire Words

On the day
you promised me morning,

you brushed your hand
across the warmth of my cheek
like sunrise
and in that breeze
we shed the feathers of flight.

The first day I saw you
I hardly noticed
the biology in your hands
and kindness released like breath
from your lips into thin air.

It was then that you first whispered the ignition--
the sparks of the Fire Words

Come here.

This was all we needed
to find grace between us.

Here you unlocked the sacred space
at the base of my throat
with the keys you borrowed
from the maker of light
and I found my way home

with your bidding
wrapped gently around my wrist
taking the shallow pulse,
just under the current of my blood,
and I trembled like Mother Earth
in another life.