What will I see today
doing the Christmas baking
and walking on the icy road
with the dog and my friend
who is lonely for her children?
The sea eagle
has been seen in Massachusetts,
5000 miles from home.
What is he lonely for?
And what will he see?
Sprinkled sunshine doses of vigor
this morning as I walk the Green Lake path.
Day of the Dead makes altars of trees.
Pageant of birdsong. Insect nibbles a leaf.
Bird nibbles insect. Raptor snags a Beswick’s Wren.
The observant coxswain motions left toward a nest
now fallen in agua.
Deep green agua riffled by oars makes a “V”
like a gaggle of geese splitting the sky.
Each buoy a sugared skull bobbing gently, slowly melting
like an iceberg receding in silt.
Take my father off the altar,
put him in a shell and he would glide
to leave me better memory.
My dead mother never learned to drive.
Never learned to swim.
Here is a gesture. It will explain
what I mean to tell you.
Watch the tops of the palm trees first,
then the windows of buildings.
What I mean to tell you is look
where somebody/nobody lives–
inside those windows, those buildings.
Let each of your eyes slide down
to where somebody/nobody lives,
To the bald mannequin on stage.
Let each of your eyes slide down
to the wig shop. Feel the people
passing each other on the sidewalk
the breezes in the spaces between them
will batter you a little. What I want
you to see is the brazen way summer
The hour between dog and wolf
is ripe with trepidation.
Some say it comes from light’s unwillingness
to give up, give in. Others say there is an odor
to twilight–something sickly sweet, vegetable
and animal together in a dank potpourri.
It’s the hour of the unfinished phrase,
the hair undone, the photo not taken,
the canvas empty, clean paintbrushes at the easels.
If clouds are going to mass, they will do so at dusk.
If the wind picks up, it does so at owl’s light.
All things bend, twirl, slow and stop at cocklight
to wait for dark and its regime of rest.
Where my skin ends
And the “other” begins,
Is a space to make choices.
I move, I walk, and my body
Burns energy, glowing energy,
Moving under my skin.
Sitting in a house, a car
Everywhere, air-conditioned air
Leaves me feeling –
Hot, cold, tired, dry.
Moving on my own two feet
Feeling sun-soaked air push
Against my body,
Leaves me feeling –
Strong, proud, happy, clear.
Making the choices that
The trees wear icy mantles;
Snow builds up under my shoes;
I walk with a rolling gait.
I have stepped outside my door,
The world of warmth,
Lies at my back.
Onwards I walk, for miles;
A thin layer of ice,
Building on my jacket.
I look up, and around;
The sky a leaden gray;
No sounds, the birds are quiet.
A peaceful time for a winter walk.
i allow myself to be open but not too
wide because hurt comes
in different ways
Is death a cold embrace?
A frigid, barren country
From which no soul may
Cross its borders to escape.
Or is it a burning coil?
A searing fiery serpent
That wraps around you
As you bake
In the scorching sun of summer.
Or could it be a fang of atropine?
A toxic, piercing switchblade
That slices into your flesh and mind.
The cyanide teeth that bite into your blood
Or is it a grotesque plague?
To disfigure the mind
And body and legacy
I want to rewrite my perception's monument,
I want to prove reality with examples...
Even if there's a valid counterargument,
It could never even explain Saturn's bevels.
The wind brings some leaves to caress their cheek,
To dry up their tear soaked face.
The Sun shows the glory they couldn't believe,
Reminding them of the better days.
My god what a year... I don't know what to say...
I have learned many things along this journey:
Signs of who I am, buried in my chest,
With the fact, that I also, maybe need... love and care.
Bindweeds fit in
But they don't
They seem to
But truly, they're kinda lonely
Bindweeds seem uncaring
Seem like they're open
But they're hidden
In front of everyones sight
Bindweeds seem destructive
Destructive of others
And they are destructive
Who destroy themselves