Blossom

Watch me blossom
like this day
where spring has arrived
at the party
ready to laugh
and drink deeply
of the golden light
that lives in the bottom
of the cup.

Watch me blossom
like a tulip
wound tightly
by winter
bursting open
with no understanding
of beauty
until you discover color
in the garden
next to a melting
mound of snow.

Golden

What possesses the bee
to fly from flower to flower
unknowingly gathering grains
of life force
free while sipping endlessly
drunk on sweet nectar;
tasting the color of light
in her small humming mouth?

Travel mile after mile
in the service of happiness
you will never see;
a queen who buries herself
in the center of the colony
away from the beauty
that lives alone
in the world
among soft petals,
delicate perfume
and you may almost
lose yourself.

Any yet,
something golden
brings you home.

The tilt of the sun
at the setting of stars
in the vast darkness.

The inner compass
pointing always west
like wind.

The scent of honey
on your breath
as you kiss
the reflection
of your heart
in the mirror
of one moment
of another
lonely
day.

The Wind in my Face

There is a place
in the folds of my mind
where the wind blows
almost constantly

from the early morning bird song
to the light leaking from the sky
into the empty silences
of night.

That is where I have pinned my soul
to a clothesline
with wooden pins
bleached by the sun

and all that cleans
and whitens the grey that gets caught
in the fibers of all the days
between January and December
will be washed away.

It is the strong light
and the fast air
that will strip the smell
of dark thoughts
and fade the stains
of blood wounds
from the linens that hang out
in this open prairie
of my heart.

The hands of women
know this easy work

of sharing hope with space

and how to make new life
out of cloth
woven from tough and beautiful
threads of dreaming.

Take my breath away
with joy.

Let me stand facing the sweetness
of the coming storm.

I will gather the dry garments
I have come to wear
in creaking wicker baskets
moments before the rain cuts loose
and is delivered
from the heavens.

Unravel

pulling the threads
from the center
of the tapestry of words
I have become

vows and promises
exchanged in my body
in the ways I exchange
the universe’s currency

light and subtle vibration
under the surface
of my skin

at the tips of my trembling fingers
draw out single strands
so as not to disturb
the beauty

the strength of the sky

until suddenly
I am naked

the source of joy
stunned and speechless

at my feet
a pool of silken web

unraveled

and making new love
out of the starlight
and dust

making beauty
out of the remains

of what was
the life we once lived.

Magnet Poem at Midnight After a Long Day of Nothing
in February

Together you recall death
smooth like a red lake
still a place
easy thousand tongued rain
elaborate beneath the sun.

I never please.

Blue honey runs
delirious & drunk
as moments fall away

ugly

smear power there
lie live and stare.

The rust
is symphony
under me.

The Silence of Winter

The silence of winter
creeps close to the kitchen windowsills
and pushes the dreamer
deeper into the earth,
the companion of blossoms
and green life
almost forgotten
in the pure and cold pleasure
of this dormant time.

Listen carefully
as you place your ear
to the chest of the living
and whisper loving vows of gratitude
for this much kindness
shared without meaning
or expectation--
without any exchange at all.

We are nearly arrived after flying
for the longest journey
like swans transformed
in these darkest days.

We arrive at the door of our souls
and they smile and embrace us
as they have done
for all time,
reuniting like light entering
the center of a single snowflake
and becoming delicate bodies--
the gentle, healing beauty
on the shoulder of a weary child
or in the hair of a woman
who is learning
she doesn't need
to sleep after all.

It is here
that a steady exhalation
makes death a friend
we need remember with joy
and as a reminder
of what we must
all give away
in order
to be absolutely sure
we are free.

Reasons to Be

In this skin
it is becoming clear
that I have many
reasons to be
exactly the woman
I have become.

It is not easy to hide
in the forest when I have become
one of the only remaining trees.

Slowly you have cut others
to the ground
and let them cure,
drying up all sap
until the bark
is loose and brittle,
cut into perfect lengths
and burned
all season long.

But I stand firmly rooted
even while all my sisters
and mothers
and sometimes daughters
leave me to the open sky and sun
for long days of heat
and the endless stars
and darkness of the night.

I stand,
arms stretched
in prayer,
and accept the embrace
of this posture alone
as the blessings
for reason enough
to be present
and ready to blossom in spring
proved shade on the long days
and release my grasp each fall
to become the peaceful observer,
the perch for all things
that fly away,
my mind soaring
and offering never
to return.