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.