Friday’s Passing Fancy/Poem: The Dreaming

At last, in the lengthening night

there is a turning around on

velvet pathways with curves set

softly afire, oceanic darkness linking

conversation with wisdom, Mother Wit

coming up from deep wells, talk that seems

real as dreaming slips in, out, past day

and tufts of songs rise behind teeth

like whistling grasses caught on branches

and light threading petals, future morning glories

while the mouth, heart are rich as darkness

and in its absence speak and are understood,

rising from waterways where traces of stars

act like power, lithe and brazen with love–

then with no warning: my awakening and

leaving bed and entering dawn

as though saved, realigned body, spirit, mind

and my Italian mug blue with silence,

waiting on a counter and ignorant of

sleep or little of it, yet a fine fit in my hand–

always deaf to talk, even this gratitude

Friday’s Passing Fancy/Poem: Where It Happens

This is it, where it happens that

life turns, turns, vast kaleidoscope

all brilliance of human mosaics,

a quixotic time come true,

this gathering up of more

stardust into fine arrays,

rare skin of butterfly wings,

sea eyes fathoms of wonder,

twenty fingers of power,

twenty toes of shyness,

pulsing spirits of trust

offered to our daily welcome

of grace unto miracles: they

dismantle–such ease of it!–

every single doubt in life:

these our gifts earthly, holy.

 

 

(Readers, the twins arrived safely. Bliss…)

Friday’s Quick Pick: Escape Art

The gauze casts itself over rooftops,

breathes across ridge and foothills

like the breath of Odysseus.

It is pulled into my lungs,

subdues the gong that strikes my heart,

an intake of coolness and love, power

that obscures, protects, reveals, shelters,

secrets away what matters most.

I close eyes once to the bleeding world

and then a whisper vanishes in twilight,

the breath let go, soul aloft,

heart swollen and emptied

as tomorrow awaits more remnants of

Light to hunt and scavenge

for whatever is yet to be escaped

for wherever I must go, shall go

Friday’s Passing Fancy: Spring River

By the spring river, there is hope.

No low-lying mongrels of hate

nor sting of yesterday’s tenderness unwanted,

not assorted misgivings carried like a barrel about to burst.

Here people know better. They reawaken, rebound.

Here are play and gumption,

reckless sharing of happiness,

the gathered blessings of sun:

a moment floating then layering another,

a small masterpiece.

We come to see and remember :

green ease worn loose as a scarf,

rocks to release to currents or secret into pockets,

and river’s flow, retreat, swirl, upwellings

this ancient call, a deep song, a lithe singer.

Forgiveness of winter’s roughness,

reversing our dour inward vision.

We bask and leap, we accept its gifts.

By the spring river, there is hope.

Friday’s Quick Pick/Poem: Sister, Alright Now

It is quite alright, anyway, sister,

this is one more reconfiguration,

a slip-slide to the right,

a gutsy careening downhill,

a pulling this part closer,

letting that old thing fall,

leaning minor or major to the left,

reaching past what obscures the way,

one leg rather tired maybe dangling

but another still dancing a jig,

one shuttered eye seeing as much

as it can, another luminous and brave,

while our spirits move in vivid infinity

or sing with the rivers, wind, stars,

and burnished wings stir old romances

the rock in your hand a shadow

of old hurt that will bruise no more,

as your rallying for the unwise or forgotten

becomes quieter (we all need mercies),

your thoughts rustle over blue-green lakes 

like a flock of startled geese,

and reflections ripple, smooth your  

face as your eyes widen and narrow,

two sunsets. I see the universal you

 

and the reason this is on my mind

(besides you being you)

is that all of us everywhere must one day

realign renovate rescue relinquish

transfigure our bound-up lives

into a more tender, valorous humanity,

into the torch of compassion,

a superior imagining of love

 

and so, also, we two–you and I–

will hang on, mosses clinging to dirt

on old paths remade for the detours

no matter what they inform us

no matter what you can no longer name

no matter if turquoise skies fade to grey

no matter when the next bell tolls

sounding each new arrival and leave-taking–

 

I will drop from the line and find you.

I will remember everything, my sister.

Especially and deeply for you.