that's mrs. mediocrity to you

and deep dark
late night lists
of the ways we are all
just a little bit
broken

and the revelation
that all we can do
is open our arms
our minds
our fear closed
scared scarred
sacred
hearts

and face the sun

one more time
one more day
one more moment

today
today

today
and love

that’s
all there is

ever

not forever

just this
minefield mountain
of now

the present
of presence

and these shard blue
sheltering smithereens
of moving sky

…

…

like the gathering jay
landing indigo dark
at this goodbye leaves fly sky

waving summer’s
last muleta

…

and this hollow black horizon
fielding landings
for cold flight frenzy bright geese

holding court
in a flurry of age

…

and you treading merlin’s tall night
through a landmine
of lost forest season

no frame can contain
or define

…

and the brink of soft light
through these brittle bone trees
of tender sight not quite description

guiding current the truest
way home

…

listen here

it’s dawn
and the mockingbird
is spinning

suddenly i want

to fly again
straight off the ends
of this square peg earth
into the winding path
of freedom’s glee

burrow deep into the heart
of day-blind skunk
and know the strength
that builds red bricks
from beasts of prey

ripple down
across the shoulder
of this rolled-boulder current
pounded smooth against
a blanket of doused flame

no longer
broken
but
broken open

open

and mirrored
plain

yet again

i climbed a mountain to return a heart-shaped rock,
walked a forest and forgave the past of everything,
broke a leg and knitted living back together,
skirted vulture cliffs and jumped only with my smile,
buried crack-lipped hallelujahs beneath the twisted tree of pain

it’s morning
and the mockingbird

is singing

. . . . .

in that hole in my heart
(you know the one)
left behind in the wake
of a wave

core scoured clean
scored by sand
and detritus
scars scratched
into every blind surface

echo etchings
scratched
into permanent
reminder

water always runs
to the lost lowest point
filling crack and crevice
with surface reflection

magnifying truth
and creating mirage
in the desert
of dutiful
destruction

the way it all shifts
when you learn
to walk through
rather than running
astray

the way trust
is a shell
balanced on backs
until we outgrow
the idea

the way a heart
always knows
its measure of weight
and its own
constellation of scars

the way hope
is not hollow
and just holding on
is more fragile
than strength to let go

.

.

listen here

these days
my time is turned
paying tribute
to lives lost
or never realized

dreams
a heart wove
as you
shoveled sand
into hourglass
of promise
and empty

all the while
pretending
not to notice
the mountain
you were melting

and mostly

it’s all just air

resting ripe in a bowl
far too damaged
for kintsugi

rift-silent and
hover proud

waiting

[still]

and open

always open

for repair

.

.

listen here

i’ve got all these pieces
shard sharp and jagged edged
heart blood dark
and silence hole

splayed across
this worn wood floor
tracing steps and trapped pretension
as it all rolls uphill
sideways

mirror mirror
pasted smile
fallen glimpses in the corner of reflection
shape shifting
loose oil carnage

and the dream I had
before
our room filled with smoke
my mind-body
shaking us both awake
certain there was fire

i still see the haze each midnight
floating right
above the quilt
i bought
to shelter the you
(or me)
i can never quite
remember

.

listen here:

into the bedroom
burrow deep into a dream

reminisce with my lost dark side
build long bridges to the past

wander boldly through a labyrinth
of strange rooms

i may redecorate
one corner of my psyche

add some art, fresh journals,
a book on the sibilance of silence

paint a sunrise in each window
moon hung high upon one wall

weave flowers through each door frame
music breathing from the floor

fix tea and toast and nectarines
for every endless meal

watch swallows flitting in and out
bits of sky caught in their tails

think i’ll move
into the bedroom

burrow deep
into a dream

float through brief moments of survival
built on colors from a stream

::

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

…