What is Climbing Today

vinesThere is no such thing as an aardvark-bean vine

yet that is exactly what is climbing today

slowly snaking itself around
your center pole

sneakily spiraling up
to gather light rays
with leaves as hard as armor
on one side

and as velvety as a bunny’s ears
on the other

They know where to grow

All you have to do
is stand still as a redwood
and allow it

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The World is Leaking Circles

plumThe world is leaking circles.

Again—It never stopped.

At dawn you find yourself filling with juice

and your flesh will have to expand.

It’s tight in there.

So deliciously tight it hurts with pleasure.

The edges want to feel the kiss of the wind

and be eaten by the winged ones.

This is the order of things: Death. Sun. Juice. Circle. Life.

That is a story for the mind.

First fruit whispers: Start where you are

Stretch into the circle
the Big Juice is trying to be through you.

That is a story for the soul.

I Was a Dream You Had Under the Moon

moontreeI’m just a dream you had

A night your soul spent with the trees
playing under the moon

I was the creek falling through you
so you could feel your own flow

I became night so you could share your darkness
and say the big secrets out loud

and not merely have them echo on the canyon walls

 

I was the uprooted tree in the shape
of a falcon’s talon
for you to be caught and released

you slipped right between them

Oh, how good that felt—
was all over your face

I was the path
for you to go ahead on

With eyes of night
I became the path ahead
to protect you from the Predator

I was the fallen redwood needle
growing from the middle
as my hands danced with yours
dancing with me being the needle

The old does not always fall away
before the new appears

I became the moon
and showed you half my face
so you could see your own

the half you want the world to see
is the half the world needs

The other half will be another dream.

Not of me
But in being more you by dreaming me.
By dreaming me seeing you.

Me holding you. You holding yourself.

That feeling, a playful poem in the dirt.

That is all within you.

Don’t ask why or interpret it.

I’m what your soul is trying to be in the world.

I’m your blind-spot being seen.

I will come out and play as your dream
whenever you need it.

That is what I do.

Until you find me in the bottom of your bones
as your truest image

When you don’t need to dream me anymore
you will wake up and find me gone.

Astonished, you will turn over
and embrace the love
that’s always been there.

Nothing Between You and the Song of Dawn

oak rootsSometimes the storm comes
to reclaim the things only borrowed

and washes the ground
from under your feet

that cold night took one leg
and the river took another

until half your roots
sailed to sea

yet you flourish deliciously
picking up rocks with your toes

and let birds play
in your time-worn beard

nothing will come between
you and the song of dawn

for you have a contract
with the world of change

swirling and opening
opening and swirling skyward

gnarled knuckles bowing to earth
fingers caressing the sky

A Meadow To Hold It All

IMG_0611There are no strangers here
any more

My heart has walked the seasons
with the rooted ones
conspiring to add a ring or two

I don’t have to ask what time it is
yet spring is nearly an unbearable
improbability

knocking on everybody’s door
a fragrant evangelist preaching
resurrection

I stumbled through the brambled wounds
of the world thick as blackberries
and sunk a falcon’s claw into the flurry

though my beard grows with each whisper
of the eastern wind and my robe
is well-worn from a winter apprenticeship

I fear I don’t have a meadow
within worthy enough to hold it all

this preposterous birth

tonight I’ll once again rest all our heads
under the inexhaustible moon
on a pillow of red dust
out-breath of the forest’s meditation
spinning itself through the seasons

and grow the edges of my booming
meadow and let the impossible rabbits feed

for not even the snowy plum
refuses to blossom
when the spring breeze
sends her strange invitations

Everything Arrives On Time

IMG_4391“It’s the wrong season
for this unfolding,
this bright and painful
spring apprenticeship
to cracking
and bursting forth,”

I whisper heatedly in the blossom’s ear.

Because, damn, I could have used your purple body-heart wisdom
when the harvest moon
peaked over pine mountain
high over strawberry fields

back in that simple season of music and fire.

Where were you when the caterpillar
was wandering around in that big garden
eating the wrong things and
stumbling over its entangled legs?

The blossom replies:

But does the full moon ask
why it wasn’t whole last week?

Does the apricot tree
complain of its flowering?

Does summer arrive mourning winter?

The big hard sun dissolves all
and calls forth new things
in the silence of summer’s eve

Perhaps everything arrives on time