is the seed
you never saw
dropped by bird or breeze or
gnarled fingers
holding silent
in
the cold of dark
the dark of cold
the carapace
of old
tend the bloom
discard
decay
worship petal
over promise
the grey kitchen
sings in whispers
to the rainbow
of brevity
each flower is merely
the camouflage of purpose:
grow
continue
circle-cycle
rest in soil
the light was always
your beginning
…
of cold
spinning deep down orders
to watch and warble and
listen
the way you stand there, alone, in a memory
of sanctitude
as if
as if
as is
forgiveness is the penny with no shine
worth next to nothing ’til you save it up
build a bright copper mountain
watch sleet coat the north
with patina
so much patience, required
this bold gift of living
inhale
over there, the beast just keeps rising
sun-gold and heat brittle branches
painting red a beginner’s horizon
luck is the path,
compass forbidden
embark, unmoored
stand frozen,
arrested
these clouds all smell
of winter
exhale
…
and i carried silence
limbs crashed as everyone watched
gladiator gold and cold blue judgment
but it tell you, i buried the seeds.
tending was a way of life
and you left me to it
watering
feeding
trimming fat
from bone
it’s not the burnished quiet
that destroys me
it’s the wind echo
petrified singing
cracking hope clear through
those
ring-counted hard-growth years
the sunset stays the same
holding space for another
tomorrow.
all i want is the gift
of a bare sapling
backlit
horizon
…
in the crooked end
of a thunderous day
all these colors
marching cross the floor
in turncoat uniform
the way you meant to go
in dark straight lines
but the labyrinth picked you up
on tiny golden bird wings
dropped you down
into the well
of expectation
deliverance in perfect
pirouette form
spinning leaves and knitted landscape
into this holey shawl
of absolution
…
