.
color
(in darkness)
is the shape
of your breath
(tangerine)
or the whisper
that scratches blue
out of black
and the middle
(which never falls
dead center)
the way the moon
wakes me up
with sharp raps
on my window
or silence
embarrassed
by its own
soliloquy
.
. . . . .
.
.
roots
fresh new growth
in tiny green houses
we remember
we cherish
we reminisce
we pine
today, the sun shines
lilac leaves reach
for gold
and warm light
soon
purple scent
will fill
every corner
.
. . . . .
.
.
breaking
ground
as if
we could plant
the seed
that will
save us
.
. . . . .
.
.
mo(u)rning song
a grey veil
of fog
does not stop
the red, red cardinal
from singing
from the topmost branch
of the still-bare tree
planted by the echo
of ancestor
in the hedgerow
red-winged blackbirds
harmonize
crow vies with jay
together we begin
a new day
.
. . . . .
.
.
window
everything is clean
and the world
is awash
with disease
dis-ease
ill seas
i watch the sky
not certain why
searching for signs
or rhymes
or lines
pointing
in the right
direction
.
. . . . .
.
sanctity
(sanity)
holding on
to:
your hand
your love
your whisper of hope
possibility
tiny miracles
tomorrow
grey clouds
sunshine
orion high
in night’s dark sky
a robin
builds a nest
in the tree
outside my window
she is my
hero
.
. . . . .
.
grief
that instant
each morning
just as you
open
didn’t really
sleep well
eyes
that instant
each morning
before
you remember
.
that is the
moment
i cling to
.
. . . . .
.
perhaps in a book
or under a rock in a garden
dotted with daffodil
or a path down the side
of a long empty road
dancing sideways and laughing
in that way no one ever
wants to hear
there’s always folding laundry
into perfect measured
squares
or washing dishing
slowly
just as the sun
begins to settle
there are six snowdrops
by the back door
nine crocus
ten thousand leaves
(i counted)
but at night
in a room
filled with ghosts and
fraught silence
there is no way around
this bitter elephant
crushing my chest
and building a home
in the corners
of verity
i see you
eating darkness
feeding fear
and ancient bear
i see you bleeding tears
of collective memory
and you
keep visiting
my dreams
as if
there is something
left
to say
i let the dog out
and the moon was singing
down at the swamp
one thousand geese
honked the words
to a universal melody
polaris twinkled
guiding each of us
home
.
.
.
and the minutes
turn back into hours
resting lazily
on firmaments
of fiction
you with
your back turned
away
from the light
and this corner
always lurking
never parried
a universe
in small spaces
revealing worlds
or open secrets
building stories
one by one
toppling towers
picking up pieces
again and again
learning you
in new lessons
leaving scars
mixed with
salt
and midnight
smiles
.
.
.
