Sunday, December 16, 2007

It’s a Circular Life

It’s a big deal,

a freshman’s last final big,

this revolution back to you.

I was a prattling preteen - attention deficit;

seeking this and this and this -

forgot our heart song, mistook shadow for sound,

mistook your silence for thick soft piles of simpatico.

Absorbed by orbit, my tethers spiraled behind me.

I was a hard shelled beetle banging about a 60 watt bulb.

I called it love - seared my wings embracing a dragon;

the cavernous the air rippling about me was

full of purpose, empty of you.

I was a tick encysted for some mega-drought ahead,

conjured as if I could be Gaea, creating hunger

so I could feed it. Blood is rich but unsustaining.

I tasted iron on my tongue and stuck it out.

I greeted my revolution; tasted its bitterness for catharsis,

how it hates the long view, how it longs for the slow turns

that wring out fog and blizzards – how it prefers

the incremental procession of heartbeats about an axis.

how it baits me with breadcrumbs to trail you

over the frozen surface of our winter garden,

how it feasts with the titmouse and chickadee

on the seeds of our harvest.

I am a horseshoe magnet growing fuzzy with metal filings.

I quiver, they accrete along my collarbone.

Both poles swing toward the magnetic pull of you.

It’s a big deal.

I discover in your reflection how we shine like alabaster

in a day filled with verga – I note our feet

never touch the ground, as you open me like a parachute

so I can glide in: toes splayed, seeking the green pond,

breaking the surface, coming around.

Every return holds another departure, it’s a circular life.

Again I’ll stick out my tongue to the next revolution,

we'll greet it with magic mantras.

I promise to break open if you promise to spill.

If we tether our axis, we can avoid the 60 watt bulbs;

even savor the slow procession of heartbeats

and tiny dots of snow geese flying north.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

Before Dominion

Before dominion over air and land and sea
out on thin ice with jackal and seal
ptarmigan and tadpole
before dominion
did we join pleasure and suffering
hand by hand
was pain of pox purple as it transformed
newborns coral pink into some sacred giveaway
did we kneel to kiss the ground
wailing in celebration of an icy magic
draining one life, filling another
taking eye for eye so all could see
how did we kiss the ground
together nose to trunk
bark to feather
singing bones and snapping fingers
did we climb tunnels to find where scars
ended and new petals emerged
did we color the water sanguine as
we crowded clay churned shores
so to howl at our triumph over thirst
for another day
roll on our backs, kicking the tawny air
with hoof and talon
before dominion
did we feed on our best parts
tenderloin and opal visions
hot fire to signal the fact
we never asked to be born
and find it all the more fullfilling
before dominion
did we forget to be separate
forget about everything but to swim in the dance
inside coming out on long stilted legs
listening for the story
how thunder found its voice in us

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Between Pulses

Inside I push against ancient skins
once plankton and algae, soft pillowed bodies
buoyancy lost, sunk, oozed with age
resurrected on a three hundred millionth year
baked brittle.
Their cups hold my finger tips
I pour words into a holy grail.

Outside two gray foxes trace a vital ocher line
with ebony noses to pull them
through moss and brambles
holding, losing olfactory caches.
In long litanies of prayer
they arrive before dawn
for a Eucharist of Sylvilagus floridanus.

So busy in and out of the chase
so sticky the threads of odyssey
we forget who blesses the breath between pulses
who parts the curtain to kiss the toad
who sings in a scarlet dawn?
We forget it is the whole world, its evolution staggering
under a gravity of shadow and light; but lucky us
holding days like Ball jars, gathering fireflies, night just descending.

Sunday, December 2, 2007

Elbow to Elbow

spin me lightly
she pleads

peopled with six billion
and more on the way

a wobble could tip us
with no place to fall

except over each other
all kick and claw, all

knees and elbows, no peace
please, spin me gently

Saturday, December 1, 2007

Missing Pluto

Crowing glory glory, we expected
to float back all together,

even raced to be first 
to ford the asteroid riffle.

Like children reaching in glee 
fingers and arms wide as rice paddies, 

we listened for star song 
to pour in like liquid sky

off the tongues of distant galaxies- 
but we lost Pluto – even before 

their chorus reached us; certainly
before we could ask the IAU 

to reconsider defining planet; 
and particularly before we could implore

#134340  to bring its moon home,
and to argue  that turning in a slow whirl

like a dervish around the sun
is better than flying wild 

with legs hugging the icy braid
of comet tails.

But they don't hear us,
they're already three billion miles

gone and outside we notice
the stars have never been so bright.

Thoughts on Eternity Part 1

Forget the rocks,
use the liquid logic of desert water
to understand eternity.

Desert water
lives for daily miracles,
eternity slips through her fingers.

Desert water flashes in July and August,
a path of least resistance,
uses eternity

to seduce open granite ridges.
Give water an inch,
watch it take a mile.

Sure, every river dreams
of being a mountain,
forever eating bowls

of gravel,
sand, cobbles,
boulders, on and on.

Water dreams in least resistance:
easier to be cloud bank than granite ridge.
Give an inch to thunderstorm, watch it flash a mile.

Eternity lives in water mind.
No one dare seduce the river's muse,
fools ask her age.