that's mrs. mediocrity to you

the squirrel in the tree
i almost can’t see

racing hard
against gravity’s sunrise

hurry hurry
mask survival

in the distance
screams of geese
folding wings
to cold dark water

ever-floating
weary bones
through a litany
of maps
named somewhere

we’re all hearing
the same bold song

set loose
in a blistering sky

all huddled for warmth
beneath fleece
or feather

the ogre
and the ingenue

wrapped together
in the velvet clip
of silence

listening

release the girl you buried in sand
the broken mug you carried in hand
release the sun you held like rain
the bitter voice that slipped your name
release the carry
the call
the fall
release the heartbreak
of us all

release the truth you thought you knew
release the lies that no one threw
release the center
raw and runny
release the words that can’t be funny
release the cry
the sigh
the tarry
release the rhyme
the time
the merry

release the weight that broke your bones
release the scars carved from stone
release the hate
the love
the fear
release the flaws
that brought you here

…

because all the mirrors
are broken
and your reflection

always hung
slightly crooked

framed by deckled edge
and past perturbance

and i
forever-settled
for the spot-speckled
lower left corner

while you took
center stage
with your soliloquy
of silence

and today I’m at the edge

of waves and water
water and waves

rolling sound and
rumbling cloud

tumble stumble
roam-rambling
around and around
and around

bent clock chiming
a litany of blue
false mirror memories
written only in sand

waves and water
water and waves

wearing down bone-sharp corners and
twisted-knife wounds

bash-crashing
ripple dancing
up the coast of blind deception

drowning out the sound
of simple silence
concealed in the shade
of broken boulders

pounding
washing
polishing
clean

these broken-tainted
pickled ghosts
drinking rich
from thirst’s existence

…

windows
wide open
for a moment
of fresh

inhale
exhale
bounce off
horizon

bird song dawn
and sunset singing

we’re all here
spreading green

it’s all new
all old
the same
same
circle

always here
lending

a hand

…

watching the way you peeled an onion
hiding tears in a scented candle
rose-sandlewood-something when really
it was the smell of smoke you hoped to hide
long after you’d quit and we both knew
it was him again
lingering in places you’d already scoured
as i peeled carrots, chopped celery, sliced
a moon down the side of one finger
before either of us noticed it was raining
and you were gone

the world is on fire

stop what you’re doing
no
stop

nothing is fair and the sky is lit
broken

stop
listening
smiling dancing and buying
stop building hiding
breathing
complaining

stop spinning

stop spilling

stop drilling
for rain

i’m an ocean of echo
on the tilt-shift of dragon

i am gold and philosophy
still and bespoken

i am school with no student
blinded by billow

i’m the cloud of refrain
in a field of forgotten

stop

squirrel fight

dove coo

blue jay belligerent

.

skin soaking up sun

anti mirror

wide smile

prismatic

.

desiderata

forgotten

.

and she walked
the center line
straight past the pond
of forgiveness

.

i listened for so long i went silent

mute as a river drinking dawn in the forest
mute as a sky bright with stories of stars
mute as a heart bleeding love like a wound

there are no words for any of this
no lexicon
for racing blindly through the darkness of reality
hawking bliss and deprivation in quiet turn

i am echo
singing jagged edge
across each mountain

you are breath
and something
less tangible

or everything

it’s all there
ramshackle and ready
prepared

but we’ve forgotten
history
her story
our collective
mind

i walk this path
i have traveled
too often

watch two bluebirds
savor sunshine
just the way March requires

i remember you there
on my windowsill
all magic and tragedy

survival
so often depends
on kindness

i say nothing

. . . . .

. . . . .

the super sweet blueberries dropped into oatmeal

the smell of lilacs, just outside an open window

a new loaf of bread popped in the oven

a robin, a cardinal, a chickadee

a messy house, a messy garden, a messy life

in need of sorting, cleaning, scrubbing, tending

waiting to be torn from disarray

and pasted back in perfect place

as i sit here

contemplating nothing

sipping tea

and mostly,

smiling

.

.

.