Skip to main content

Know

“Stay close, my heart, to the one who knows your ways…” - Rumi

I’d break the mold
Cast a maple spell on summer,
tether tonight’s dream

I’d stand inside the dream
Tadasana,  mountain to
stones in the river, silent

under paddle strokes.
I’d be diamonds in the smoke,
shining out our anthem.

I heard it yesterday.
Stagecoach Road wore fire pinks
along its limestone shoulders

I’d be the feathery sedum
beside it, delicate Tennessee triskelion
ready with all three arms

to wrap you up
in waterfalls, in high humidity
with leviathan heart,

whispering a sturdy pledge,
like the one of armadillos to fire ants -
I will follow you to the end of time.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend

  Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend And life a faithful pillow - a pillow to go flat, a spirit to drift off,  glaciers to melt and raise the sea. The blueprint is clear - Expect a tiny storm of mercy–  full of crows and bottle flies to debride the corpse,  to tithe the land.      And respect the putrid demise - things that fall apart make space for miracles.   Yet there persists the memory of breath rinsed in lavender and salt air. Then the dreams for blood and semen to revive, to metabolize  every tired, sad gospel into a hatch of octopus. Death confesses everything as she conjures her necrosis, as she feigns redemption, fools us with false devotion. She believes our defiance will set her free.   We must let grief to be the thread and needle to darn the rend, renew the cloth. then we can grasp the nascent green of winter wheat in spring.