Sucking Soggy Marsh

Wound is muddy,
sucking soggy marsh
draining down

Pain is sharp, clear like glass
bright as a purple thistle

arriving like an ancient letter
you forgot you sent yourself, saying:

Scrape the mud off your feet
look through the glass
walk your wound into pain
pain into bloom
bloom into puff — blow away on the wind
the seeds of the new


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