the mist, heavy and grey
descends
quiet then hushed
even more silent than
the misted time before.

at the nape of my neck?

a fire

     < a place for fire >

the hearth at which you
can keep warm

and the dark one?
he lives on the shadow side
of the moon.

he never knew the sun.

he did not know.

he will live 100 hundred lives
and it will not be undone.

but now?

 c'est fini.

and what of us who love?

     "we are a bit undone."

yes and hush and . . .

in the deep.

swim the manatee.

and i whisper into her ear,

"people are disappointing"

    ~ even, when they do not mean to be ~

but still she trusts the sea.

and we swim, and we love one another,
we give birth then we die.

we are at peace, dreamless sleep.

you and i.

we are flesh and ash,
dirt and star dust.








but wait,
      (dear sweet, child)

where did she go?

who will eat the butter cream roses
on her birthday cake?


.......................................................................


she came in like a scorpion.
     fierce and ready to fight for what was hers.

birth right and being right, walking
the aisle dressed in white.

but she left, an archer.
     redeemed and afraid, fragile with love.

abandoning clarity for creativity.
relinquishing certainty for tenderness.

letting go the willfulness, to embrace the wide open
           spaces inside her sparking mind.

and though i was broken by her death-trap claw.

i had my own claws, daughter to her mother

     after all.


and even through my eleven thousand cracks,



           one hundred billion sparkles of light shine


                     they speak in deafening hum, the silence


                             quieting the haunted shreds of the angry temple.

and there,

                                                         (hush, hush the silence is growing)

     the mirrors

one after the other
       stacked, against the orange
bricks, aligned and close
           to the fire.

in the reflection, you see
       everything you are,
         
           exactly opposite.

crazy times, whispered lines spinning.

time and space.

the deep, unfathomable waters.

angels fly, their wings
blur, constellations unaware

of their origins.




and in the beginning, i was
surrounded by quiet.

my ocean, the sea, a reflection.

this is un-ending. without edit.

the story, before the story.



we were trees, green and slow to grow.

old growth, undying.

i know hell,
the flames,
the demons,
a devil.

i know heaven,
        i had some peace
       to try, some
           manna to taste.

                                         
                                                        (hush, hush, the wild things are birthing)


these are the things
we find.

earth, third planet,
blue alive and dying.
i did not want to
come, i was tired
deep into my marrow.

but once i drew the
mantle of oxygen
around my shoulders,

i cried for the joy

for the devouring pain
for the love
the fragile beauty

    of it
         
            all.


                                                         (hush, hush, you are wrapped in the loving)


you know and i know.
when the oxygen hits,
everything blue changes.



we are red,
   
             shocked and shocking.

and here, the robin's nest
brimming with the most
fragile of all hope.

there is copper and rust,
koi swimming, tender roots,
poppies blooming,
monarch wing set against blue sky.
patina and worn leather.

beating hearts and tired hearts.
new hearts and a louder beating
beneath all these things.

and all the while, the fire is burning.

i know much about the living.

i know even more about the dying.