on this the day

on this the night before a day
borne out of necessity

a correction

i stayed at the window until midnight

feeling all the day's stories

lifting away and upwards

past sheets of moonlight

absorbed into the passing clouds

all filled with wishes

past and passing

as hopeful as God

eventually

pointed tongues of skywater

licking at the air

all pointing earthwards

in anticipation

of returning home

i got scared

some days i wake and wonder

will this day hold me close

will this day call me by my name

so many days

arrive

and find all sorts of ways
in which to depart

and then some stand up and fling their arms out to the side

to draw me in

fill me with their own fullness

and end with the gentlest glance-over-the-shoulder sunsets

that leave the soft ache of wistfulness

and hopefulness

all at the same time

-

"you were really saying something

when you called me by my name

let's get out in a ghost town

then you can call it out again

five years ago, half of the world disappeared

and half of my life was clear"


italicized words "starling electric" from their song "i got scared"

bone whistle

even the wind

slows down to listen

to the hollow tapping

of their iced amber bodies

the sky cries

i walked

i ran

i did not look back

i didn't want to

for fear

of asking for more

cracks in the shell

when there is no you

and the lies are all out

when the threads are so tangled

and the air cracks with frost

give no thought

to unknowing

fly away fly out

let go

morning draw

the sky walks slowly out into the light of day and pulls words of gratitude from my mouth

i will swim in the racing grace of all the everythings

that will cross the dawn's river

from you to my

self

alone

no more

our place

we sing our songs

in bright little whispers

that touch this place

with the fingers

of hands

that wish for

the eyes of otherwise

the elusive spiritual moment

something in the corner

in the light the shadow's left -

a movement

a shifting

i can't look directly at it

because it will not be there

if i do

and so i glance

sideways

hoping

to catch it unawares

for surely

in its organized

and furtive clustering

i will learn a secret

i will see

what is not meant to be seen

which is i believe

why

i am here

shreds

sometimes the high winds of this world

whittle and trim

the details of us

scattering

the detritus of us

all about

and we're left looking

at the many little pieces

and wondering

and what was all this about anyway?

darker later

last night

the darksome sky

washed

through and over me

kissing its way across

the lightbulb lit shadows

with so many excuses

i wavered

overly thoughtful and understanding

before opening

the window to let it pass

beyond the curtains

of my indecision

and off into the suddenly full

emptiness

nicolas jaar mi mujer

on high rotation and being danced to by various members of my family and friends and students

away

they arrive and they leave

so like the beginnings and endings

of everything

a glimmer

a song sung and left to rise all on its own into the night sky

never to be seen or heard again

somehow emptying

into the fullness of a settling day

voice

the light is falling

thin and cold

so like the emptiness

of metal

until the words

"are you coming?"

soft and orange and convincing

as any i've ever heard

i have a mind

i have a mind to confuse things,

unite them, bring them to birth,

mix them up, undress them,

until the light of the world

has the oneness of the ocean,

a generous, vast wholeness,

a crepitant fragrance.

pablo neruda (from "too many names")

it rises

It rises—passes—on our South

Inscribes a simple Noon—

Cajoles a Moment with the Spires

And infinite is gone—

emily dickinson

the small escape of light

they race

in their soft unlikeliness

out of little tears in the sky

snow narrowed

snow narrows the space

between the sky

and the ground

i very love

being contained

inside

that

narrowness

guardian

steven aged two and the dog of his life a border collie named "mush"

in my memory you will always follow me and protect me and trust me and love me with your own needs so very unmet and yet somehow you knew to make your way here and lead me through this difficult place with no sense of the rewards that might come your way in this or any other lifetime . . . and i hurt you and cared less of you than myself and then your own end came prematurely and beyond your control

- if endings can ever be either mature or within our control -

and i wonder . . .

i wonder where you returned to and what you are and why

. . . . but i still love you so as you are. . . .

in my heart

the sweet and soft space

there's a sweet and soft space that calls to me

a whispered presence

a glance perhaps even a touch

a reassurance

that doesn't so much pull as it draws me closer

by default

by desire

a mouth that parts just so

eyes that crease

with the words . . .

'i've been here a while

waiting ...

waiting so long and then also so very much not so long

because i know nothing of time

and yet

i'm so glad to see you back

so very glad

so very ....."

my chair

there's a chair

in this house

and the sweet glowing arc

of its frame

speaks to me

of jungles

and beautiful bare backs

even as i sit

layered deep

and hidden

from the world

beyond the windows

approaching the day with intention

1. this song this dance this spinning around of the spirit inside -

even in my sleep

i can feel it's hands reaching out and grabbing at the cloaks of me

and i can feel those hands pulling the whirling shadow-softened robes in tight

to my lonely frame

and i'll call that "waking up

and looking around

and counting my blessings

and holding them as close as i dare"

2. "hold still" croaks the crow as i pour past his sitting place in the early morning light

which is as thin as i'm thin

and this day i feel so old i feel so coldly old

layered and coddled by the words

that tumble mumbling from my own mouth

and addressed to no one in particular

something about "always looking for something more, or other"

and i'll call that "crossing from my inner to my outer world

across a bridge of my daily making and design"

tenderness

,

i made my home amidst this human bustle

yet i hear no clamour from the carts and horses.

my friend, you ask me how this can be so?

a distant heart will tend towards like places.

from the eastern hedge,

i pluck chrysanthemum flowers,

and idly look towards the southern hills.

the mountain air is beautiful day and night,

the birds fly back to roost with one another.

i know that this must have some deeper meaning,

i try to explain, but cannot find the words.

drinking wine tao qian

blue crystal fire

arborea's take on the beautiful song written by robbie basho

midwinter

the lights

the very little

coloured lights

all gather

here

in this

very white

desert

still

there's a temptation

to fall inside

your fingers

if only to feel them

holding my face

each day

in the morning

they draw closer

for the simple pleasure

of being near each other

silver chants

upon the spires

silver

chants the litanies

words excerpted from stinging

by e.e. cummings

more

everything

in these dry thin

husks and bones

holds summer in their form

the pale crystals -

a simple promise