the trees hold flowers and promises and bird's wings,

they tell their stories in a series of little rings,
just like me.

just like me . . .

come to me through the antler forest,
i will hold you, i will open the
screen door, to let in the velvet breeze ~
breathy whispers from the sun.

a field of clover, lies in between you
and me.

a blue sky drive, and your bed
will be my bed.

the river is deep, and the manatees come
seeking warmth.

gentle creatures,

they are guileless and forever innocent.

though the scars go deep and
death creeps in around their sweet corners.

i remember my grandfather's muscled arm,
he taught me my letters and simple addition,
the green lady on his forearm, naked and
undulating, sang foreign songs that rolled
off her hibiscus tongue,

she knew of war and
foreboding things,
i did not yet understand ~

when i was too young to treasure the
meaning, my grandparents brought
a garden to my door.

each time i started over ~

no matter where i went,

sage and lamb's ear,
red buds and moon flowers,
irises and cone flowers ~

followed me, filling up my lonely road, band-aids
for my latest mistake ~ my guileless hope that
home was sane and quiet and peaceful, full
of truth and sweet salvation.

those days lay far behind me, all my lost gardens.

my grandparents lay now, side by side.

they don't fight anymore or blame each other
for the sad things that haunted behind their eyes.

it is a cemetery tomorrow,
skeletons dance in their flower crowns,
they confuse the candle light flames.

they whisper to the letters, making
a poem in the shape of disappointed delight.

and in a new home, a field of hope, new and unbroken,
stretches its limestone bones.

i plant my mary and she is dripping
in yellow roses.  i plant cone flowers, sage, moonflowers,
redbuds, lamb's ear and other things . . .

other things ~

i learn how to make a safe home but i
still make lavender tea,
pour steaming water
from the copper kettle.
welcoming home my
favorite ghosts,

they sit in the garden and we
talk of the weather
and of black and white days
and of seeds and water
and the quiet promise of planted things.

spring ~ you bring me back to the essence ~ reflecting pool of life ~

the wick is rising and i have made it through the snow drift and into the daffodil day.

i have been down long roads, i have cried rivers . . . i have clung to the tree as the roaring water tried to tear me away.








i have known dark things, i have been on the inside of the darkest hearts ~








i have learned, that when we give into the river tide and travel to ocean wave.  we are reborn in our tears and in our willingness to cry.  come with me, it is the promised journey, it is the ultimate adventure ~ it is life, as we make it.







and then, you will find a miracle ~ you will feel your heart beat and you will know what that means ~ you will know where you belong, you will find your home.  it is always as close as your very own heart.







only from the honey comb heart, can the universe be explored.







and we are re-made and re-imagined.







So then, as the stars hum, i will say "¡eh, quit your job and run away with me to Santiago" ~~










and on Sunday morning, I will fry thick-cut, apple-smoked bacon and make you  . . .













and then we will love each other, forever, because we won't even care . . . . other than each for the heart of the other.









we will dance into the future, because there will be nothing else left to do.













then we will sleep, exhausted and full of dreaming








then wake








and i will know that i am beautiful and that you are beautiful and that life is frightening, and grand and gorgeous.













and because i just can't help it . . . i am a seriously a serious woman.












then i will feel into the base of my spine, and wish my wings into being and i will turn the stars, arms open and i will go home.











hope you are enjoying the journey into spring, into the center of your heart . . .



life and music and dancing and loving, laughing and crying, because then ~

it is the snow globe tip,
topple into warm heart,
the whisper and the warning.

i put the silver bowl,
on the turning wood table.

my brandy and your wine.

berries from the to-be garden.

taking sips from the morrocan

glass.

gold, turquoise zellige,
night flower silence,
hope-filled fragrance.

turn my hands, i will tell you the time.

i can grow you some thyme, and make
you taste the coming.

i have a way with seeds,
the soil, and the quiet
way of growing things.

i have torn down the wall, and found
the leather book we are concealing.

walk with me into the firefly night,
we will share secrets through the
cicada moon silence.

when i first found you, you
 did not know my house ~
i tied a tartan scarf
around an old shovel,
standing in the snow drift,
 it called you to my door.

now my door,
your door,
the same door.

open me, remember me,
 hold me in your heart,
while i soar through
blue sky days.

you are the only one
i know
who can make February
feel like July.

outside the light gathers
snow and ice into arctic arms.

but . . . .

we sit on the concrete boat ramp,

side by side

sepia summer time,

children running around us.

the fireflies are ghosts,
the cicadas, premonitions.

sparklers spitting fire,
carving suspended shapes into the
night sky.

a year from this moment,
you will marry me,
the ocean will be our witness.

in the wintry past, you pull me to you,

no one knows.

you wrap your wings around me,
you name me,
i am yours.

now, in this place and time,
i hold your diamond inside my
mouth  ~ it is only for me to taste.

you place your gentle, wise
hand over my own.

the sky is filled with light, stars
and galaxies, bones and souls,
the makings of such things
and others.

paper lanterns rise from the shadow
hills, flame-filled promises lifting into the night.

my promise falters, seeking water
to satiate its frightened fire, but at the last
moment it is able,

it rises.

free and soaring

~ boundless ~

a fire lit, seeking its home.

a star remembering its

universe,

inducted into the moon,

remembered by the sun,

and i am happy.

driving across this land of glacier hills
and wind scraped sky,

ghost grass snap shot.

looking for the first heart beat I knew,
real and grounded before my heart
beat for the first time.

my own heart ~ concrete walls
girded with steel ~

you know that isn't true,

more like sugar glass held
together with spider web ~

my ears listening for the first
song I ever heard.

so filled with hope and hopelessness.

in measures equal,

in measures unbalanced.

when I was a child
I stepped out into
the summer storm,

held out my hopeful hands,

cupped and holding

what I knew was the

history of the whole world.

then I threw my head back,

drank in the universe and danced.

Listen . . .





While You Watch . . .










Then walk . . .



in your bare feet  . . .





we walk, and it is soft ~ soft.
lilting step and slipping promises.

the eagle flies over us,
magic feathered wings.

heavenly things can overcome
Mammon's muscled whispers.

we are the flood, the flame.

our bones are stones,
our blood . . . the next forest.

we weep, we are the
water over the road.

bridge and gap.

wash this away, hold me,
I am red heart remembered.

she has sewn together,
the lips of all the liars.

the world rises like a bee hum,
the murmuration sings on the horizon.

memories smudge across the
broken glass edge ~

my bloody toe, my corn field salvation.

a picture, in black and white, forgotten
in my worded mind, defined by my
posture, my synapse symphony.

my bare feet are strong and certain,
walking on the gravel lane ~
I know where the hive hangs,
I was born into its steady connection.

my wrists, once bound and bruised,
are free ~ I have found my fist,
I leave the filthy ropes behind.

I know a strong man, he waits
for me with big winged embrace.
at the end of the road, i can rest.

but i like the temerarious march,
thru the waxing moonlight morning,

that lies in between.

Goodbye 2014

Gifts of the year
miracles
terrible and wonderous.
life always is this,
it is everything big and small.
walk with me through the new year.
take my hand,
we have so many journeys left to make.

And so it begins . . .