That Tide Your Heartbeat

e7b97da6-241e-4aad-87a1-81c7107decbdRemember when you doubted?

Back in the season of smallness
when the Big Trust
was a secret password
known only to the society of saints?

Remember when your narrow
Image looked back at you
from the Distorted Mirror of your tiny house?

And when you smashed that mirror
with a mountain heart
and used the shards to carve an Image in the sands of time
that even the Mighty Ocean could barely contain

the sun and moon
became your peers,
the tide your heartbeat.

And now—
now you dance
sometimes as the shoreline
sometimes as the sea
sometimes as the raindrops
on granite peaks

inhaling hardness
exhaling softness

with starlight falling
through your finger tips
and whole galaxies underfoot.

I Hang My Songs

7a4669e2-5eb3-4c86-ade7-f87b8c3af493I hang my songs
outside her balcony
hoping she’ll catch a note or two
when she comes out to air her splendid hair.

I play my dirt drum when she’s near
hoping her feet will feel it’s vibration
and she’ll continue
dancing in my direction.

And when the moon stops by
I think it’s her
and begin sending kisses up the willow tree.

And I’m not wrong.

She gets out her sheet music
and starts strumming all my strings.

My Name is Belonging

0aeb9f55-99b4-4c88-ac8e-959652afd7a9They say the first step is admitting
you have an addiction

So here goes —my name is Mystery,
I’ve been here a million times
and Yes, I take heaping spoonfuls
of galaxies straight out of the jar
when I should be sleeping

I gulp in the seasons
whenever I see one one sitting out
on the table

My name is Abundance,
and I swallow fat Oceans
calorie-dense forests
and whole fields of lupine
when I think no one is looking

My name is Curiosity,
and I look under rocks
and climb through dark caves
running my hands against the wet walls

My name is Insatiable
and I chew on entire mountain ranges
just to get high

I have no idea what they say
about the second step,
I wasn’t listening.

I was too busy sitting
on the edge of the cliff
watching the sun retire
and caressing the bark
of the madrone tree.

My name is Belonging.

Abundance

82e95508-b8da-4f24-a2ab-f2aac78cbcf5Abundance will take care of itself
like those thousand spores
on the underside of mushroom bells
the shape of private parts
commuting on the wind.

But they’re not private
they’re out there for everyone
to see touch taste
like the passing storm
handing out drops
to every eager passerby
not holding back anything.

Yes, be the wetness.

But also, be the spore and storm.

There’s no chance of failing then.

That Skunk of a Raven

6391c0ca-5bbf-4cd5-bbe6-a26bdc66c124They say as long as it’s not a poem about Nature or god forbid,
Love

Whether in its burning purity
Or complex unrequisitions

So don’t expect nightingales here
I’ve turned all my warblers to ravens
and put in an order for dread
or the heavy metals of a world bent on celebrating gross and dark red things
and punching at all the Others
it thinks lives out THERE

But it boomerangs back as a dark bird singing sonnets
summing up the kerneled heart
inside the fist

I climb down the tree
watered with freedom
seeding its uncompromising truths in the shade
shaking out eternities of tunes
from the raven-lit branches

The opposite of love isn’t hate
but indifference, it says
and there’s no room in these wings for that

That skunk of a Raven squawks something
about how every tune is a love poem
even the damned curses

Every word a wild word
and challenges me to defy him

How can I argue with someone like that?

Wink Me Into That Obsidian Night

01e2defc-45fd-46de-86d8-b12553a1f189Frogs announce it’s bath-time,
but Time and Space are just bad habits
when I take off my robe
to dip into the cosmic hot springs
 

To ease my wrinkled mind
and wash off all that debris
that’s collected around my eyes and ears
since this morning
when I was a just a baby
so innocent and bright-eyed
and full of dreams

And I settle in for a bedtime story-
Which is it this time,
the one about the trickster thief
who saved the world
or the one about the drunken saint
who broke a thousand hearts?

The dirt and the moon argue
over who loves me more
and the owls and moon take turns
tucking me in
with their lullabies—
winking me into that obsidian night
where threads of dreamcloth weave themselves
around my naked mind

Until once again I awake a newborn
Tossing fresh songs into the sky