As I prepare the hummingbird feeders
To place in the yard,
My mind gathers the threads of my what-ifs,
Thinking to knit
Some alternate reel
Of these last few years.
But my what-ifs unravel
As my hands no longer possess
The dexterity to knot
The ends and edges
Of time I never found
To circle the earth,
Looking for you
As I took wide gaited steps,
Covering as much ground
As possible.
Yet still, knowing
Had I found you,
My words would
Have stumbled
Over each other,
Clumsy from lacking sense
Of time lost, wasted—
And yet, I think of you every day, after all these years.
The you before the world shrank with color draining away,
The you before the new penny color of your hair faded to white,
The you with warm blue topaz eyes reflecting sunshine prisms,
Not the ice glinting gemstones they became.
And I—
I had fresh, pure words,
Weaving us a blanket of innocence and love
As we curved toward each other in youth.
But I cannot stride the world anymore
In search of you.
Thus, I let you go,
Hoping you find softness
Like the hummingbird
Who brushes her cheek against
The petals of a dinner plate hibiscus
In search of nectar.
Leaves half dead brown
half living green dappled
with the gold of hope,
sparkling, dangle from the tree
as if life clutched within
holds a secret
on this wonderful warm winter
afternoon—
masquerading as a spring day--
joyous—these leaves
reflecting light like crystals
of a fancy chandelier--
yet the leaves,
fragile as they are,
will fall upon the forest floor
with tomorrow’s cold winds
which they cannot withstand
and my heart, like the leaves—
not green enough
to withstand
assaulting winter
but today, today—
chooses to clutch
at the hope
in this masquerade of spring.
Consequences of time
Climb and mount
About the throat,
Following the path
Of arteries and veins,
And as if by magic,
Enter into the blood
To provide a dram bit
Of bitter choking poison
To the will of moving blood
That slows and stills
In the knowing.
With ramshackle shards
Of heart, soul, self
Falling away like the browned petals
Of a long-wilted bouquet,
We create a riotous noise
In ramshackle attempts
To find some connection.
Lumbering, awkward attempts
At reaching out to touch once again,
To replace, to freshen
The brown wilted and missing parts
With new bouquets of spring
Whose stems sit in eternally
Fresh, clean waters.
We dream of a life lived
No longer ramshackle,
With no long-wilted bouquets
Of a past to haunt with falling petals,
But a life returning whole,
To move without noise
Through the world once again.
She will never fall to earth again
After soaring among the stars,
The planets a blur. No.
No. She will never swim
In the deepest oceans,
Cavorting with dolphins and whales. No.
No. Never will her soul fly,
Brushing shoulders with angels,
Their wings touching upon her face. No.
No. Never these things.
Never these dangerous things again.
Never allowing illusions to gain sway. No.
No. She will plant her feet firmly in the ground.
Her heart cemented in her chest. Yes.
Yes. That once mighty waterfall
Has slowed to a trickle
As there no longer exist
Any waterfall wishes.
The feel of some bold mystic chaos
Contained within the fire of kisses
Traveling along the boundaries
Where lived an identity
You lost long ago—
To feel that chaotic fire
Burn away the identity
You wear today—
Feel passionate softness
Twist within and around
Leaving bruises unseen
And you undone
In twisting mystic
Chaos of fire.
Walking through days---
There are too many left
And not enough
To let me forget.
I walk into sunrises
Into sunsets--
There are not enough
Sunrises or sunsets left
In life to let me forget
And too many yet to live
To live in remembering.
I walk to gain forgetfulness.
There are not enough miles,
Not enough steps,
Not enough earth
To walk
To bring
About forgetfulness.
I walk, seeking shelter
From thunderstorms
Yet they remind me.
I walk, seeking exhaustion
In the mountains
Yet they remind me.
I walk, seeking the healing of salt
From ocean waters
Yet they remind me.
All speaking
In whispers
Of the earth’s remembrance.
It all reminds me—
The brilliant azure sky,
The verdant green of forests,
The primal roar of oceans,
The Rorschach shape of clouds,
The roil gray of storms—
It all reminds me,
Brings me back
Nothing allows me to forget.
Petals of these words
Capture not your true essence,
A perfume to me.
The rarest flowers
With their soft, fragrant petals
Are waxen mimics
Of
You stretched, glowing sleep
A contented, wonderous sight
Perfect perfection.
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Hearing The Mermaids Sing 