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.

So That I Will Not Fly Away

In the covenant of confession
it is my duty to be honest;

to undress my thoughts like a new bride
and stand with my emotional skin
innocent and bare to the truth.

Take this cup of new wine, Love,
for my hands are trembling.

The night shines
heavy with the moon
and I must embrace the body again
so that I will not fly away.

In the Arms of Courage

After waking,

after the night
when all the stars shook
wondering if they might be next to fall,
shattered into pieces of the sky,
plummeting out of control
to the soil under our feet,

I cannot help but weep.

I am almost human again

knowing I could stand
like a sailor on this celestial sea

without leaving the ground.

It has been many years
since I cast off from the safe harbor,
opened my sails to glide
into these unknown waters
trying to map my course
toward untangled love

and birds who breathe softly
in the nest of my hands.

My eyes walk like strangers
into the heavens looking for traces of angels
in the flashes left by meteors,
the temporary lighthouses

where laughter balanced lightly
on stones stacked by God.

Words are not enough

after the galaxy has been my lover

and my blood believes in eternity
plucked moment by moment
from the tree of life.

I am more certain now than ever
that I will be healed

in the arms of courage

as he leans in
to kiss my third eye.

Leonid Love Song to an Imperfect Lover

Somehow I knew the heavens
had drawn themselves closer
even before I stepped out into the darkness
beyond my kitchen door and into the trees.

My path has taken me, again,
into the abundant fruit of the orchards
that hang heavy, desperate with sin,
and ready to be harvested
like a heart ripe with too much
unexplained love.

I do not take the warning
of stars falling from the sky
without notice
and cannot ignore the call
to gather myself, flesh and bone,
for the redemption
and what it means
to be washed in the light
of Leonid.

If you meet me by these waters, Lover,
hold my holy hands and speak in a whisper
until the vessel of your heart
is an empty container of faith,
all will be forgiven for our imperfections.

All will be forgiven
as we cast a glimmering net of hope
into the promise
of another broken dawn.