and all you can do is listen
the sound of petals opening is a whisper of countenance
growth is always louder than stasis
rushing headlong into the light can leave you blind
all the answers lie
in the space between seconds
where the song of eternity echoes
two hands one heart
weaving songs of forever
left to dance on the wind
of intention
.
.
.
.
something old
something new
something borrowed
something blue
.
all to say
that i love you
.
she wore crinoline and ruffles
tacked on with sap and honey
earrings made from dewdrops
and a necklace of morning glory vine
(each leaf a green heart of forgiveness)
she danced with the whirl and the twirl
of a long lost travelling gypsy
(which is to say she was barefoot)
and the music called forth
by the bells on her ankles
echoed throughout the hall
and the prince
(oh, the prince!)
how he carried a shoe
on a satin-faced
sleep-wrinkled pillow
offered up with a bow
and a deeply felt flourish
and (of course)
the perfect fit
but she’d already chosen
the sky as her lover
the moon as her (k)night
and so,
in the end
she sipped champagne
from the toe
of a willow bark slipper
raised her arms
with a smile
and invited
each and every
singing soldier
painted lady
purple wallflower
to tango
a path to the door
and her dance card
left behind
(with gratitude)
became a blank-faced
notebook
of possibility
.
.
.
the ripe ones are always waiting
closed up holed up sewn up
biding time like the best of new mothers
and you think you know how to birth them
“sounds like so and so” i hear you snort
as you rustle past with your wrinkled paper
on your way to tea and toast
all posh and proper
confessional only on bitter days
the rest of the time you’re sure to rhyme
though you much prefer to couple
and i always listen
ears pressed to the floor with fingers tapping
waiting for more
there’s always more
cadence calls and you’re off to supper
swilling syllable and savory refrain
waving your fork in the air mid-rant
even as the knife continues sawing
through the vein
i serve cold soup and sorry sentence
in a too-tight apron laced with stain
and hope that later
once you’ve finished
we’ll invent a new word
for dessert
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
that fragile thing
called hope
lives everywhere
your heart
goes
.
.
.
.
i remember when romance and hope were the same thing
he loves me, he loves me not
tattooed in a circle round my ankle
an ink drawn fresh dried forever shackle
offered in exchange for the customary key
but a young girl’s heart is always moving forward
ready to burst into star-struck song and
a brief exchange of whiskey serenade
until she learns with a crone’s bold eye
love is not the flower, but the root
.
.
all the memories
become a jumble
of forgotten chances
paint peels
and the sky
blinks
clouding birds
with gun flint
steel
a southern hurricane
whispers blindly
through the poplars
i planted
one day long ago
when i could not
say your name
now those same trees
shade our bedroom
telling secrets to a
clear clown canvas
and i paint circles
on your chest
with knobby-edged
fingers
wondering
if the rings
at the heart of those
tall twin trunks
are made of time
or gold
or if it matters
shadows dance
as leaves shimmy shake
across the surface of a lake
we never managed
to explore
and we watch the sun
set down color
like a promise
or a platter
filled with food
from a picnic
never taken
.
.
.
.
a dance
with the sky
requires
bare feet
a dab of scent
and
arms wide open
.
.
.
.
.
mother nature invented fireworks
.
love is everywhere i turn
.
outrage makes me tired
.
reading keeps me sane
.
writing keeps me whole
.
my garden keeps me centered
.
fireflies at midnight are still magic
.
every sunrise is a page in the book of possibility
.
every sunset is a sentence in your story
.
whispering poplars sing the best lullabyes
.
birdsong is the symphony of life
.
.
.
.
half is half and whole is whole
and open is never closed
the sky is unconcerned with your welfare
even as it paints your evening red
silence is impossible to silence
full or empty
black or gold
drink it in with your pessimist’s stare
pour it out with an optimist’s grin
overflow
and the earth will take your offering
run it downhill to the pool of purpose
gather
mingle
transmogrify
despair and hope and courage
and puddle them all
at the feet of fortitude
an elixir of entropy
reflecting
cirrus clouds
and broken blue
.
.
.
