Open Water

Labor long
at the edge
of another wave,
of another birth,
where it is simple to list
the ways you have been lost

at sea before,
the ocean lovely,
the enormous confusion a leviathan
who wanders leeway
past the bow of this ship.

Set the sails free
and cast away into the watery blue.

Taste the salt on your lips
as you disappear into the nothingness
of open water.

Agonizing

In the intricacy of this morning,
just like any other morning,
I am fragile as a husk of the juvenile ghost
I once was.

I cling to the idleness of that haughty girl
as graceful as granite
jostled by the plumage of a body,
exhumed flaunting the deft hands

engorged with wanting,
consumed by thinking
I could keep myself
from the agonizing arrows

of another chance
to disappear into a cleft
of a day of organic despair
and measuring the blue of the sky.

Calling Out My Name

Biding my breath,
I have been waiting far too long
in the shadows of my head
to be honest.

But the mist and these abundant bird songs
remind me of days when I was a maiden,
chaste in thoughts undefiled by anger
or worry of the discovery of my hidden gifts.

This inspired thinking is brash
as it dares to step into the open meadow
and announce itself
like the bells ringing
in a clear voice

without apology
for calling out
a name given to me
by the goodness
of universal kindness
and unconditional love.

Getting Somewhere

What difference does this abrupt undulation,
this current of smooth radiation of a smile
and the balm of loving kindness make?

What difference if I levitate a little
when I walk in a spell under a small invasion of joy
with my hands submerged in the morning dishes and eyes
tracing the edges of bleeding hearts peeking over the deck

crouched and at the ready to disappear
at the slightest friction; sparks of unpleasant radio news,

tremors of the invasion we hoped would never arrive.

Rather let us notice the explosion of spring chanting freedom,
the waft of pink voiced apple blossoms off the veranda--

a chronicle of the evolution of fruit and women marching
on their way to harvest,

arms swinging at the urgency
of getting somewhere fast.

Storm Raging

This storm rages like a giant suffocating
and finally gasping the entire vermillion sky
in one long and angry breath.

The defiant thoughts implanted in rain
and pine-shattering wind
will not be traded in a commerce
that continues pleading for leniency
against nature's flashing justice.

Regret nothing
and gather your beloved
as if you will not wake to find
another day.

Regret nothing
and open your eyes
to the violent dreaming night.

On the Night I Emptied My Womb

The fever of the spirit of God
and the allure of relief
over took me on the night
I emptied my womb.

I did not sway from the truth.
I was not ready
for the brevity of life
and so I chose, instead, to escape.

Escaped pathetically like a prophet
who would not accept
the order from heaven
to serve.

I am cast
again and again
from the side of the ship
and will be swallowed up
by the voices of angels
singing in languages
I will never understand.

Surfers Waiting

Look past this cleve;
this deep misunderstanding,
and I will gird myself--

like one who must itch that itch
at the end of one's nose
or on the elbow during deepest meditation,
or at the place where wisdom meets the heart,

and we will bob on the ocean,
surfers waiting for the wave,
and ready to meet the water with courage and fascination

with the salty green of prana
and the universe calling us home.