I wanted to run among the wild ones.
Live with them among the mountains.
Rub muzzle against muzzle.
Eat sweet grasses.
Enjoy golden warmth upon my back.
Let my soul and spirit rest
Among the trees with the wild ones.
But it was not to be.
My heart could not slow enough
To contain their peace.
And so, I sought the white ones at the sea.
They crashed about restlessly.
Truly wild they were, as they raced continually.
Their cacophonous pacing furious, relentless.
Yes, these wild white stormy ones were in keeping
With my heart, a raging irregular and brutal pace.
At sunrise over water, Remembering a dream Of finding ecstasy Within tears, Things neither given Nor felt in years, Linked by all the fears To form decades of a life Lived like a stranger In my own skin.
I have stood Since the dawn At this ocean’s edge Waiting, waiting. And now at noon The rain begins. Fierce pelting blows Washing me clean Of all I know Or dare to dream.
From the shaking dirge cries of birth
To the desire for ease in the between,
Before the elemental breath rattles at death,
We are lost in cacophonous sighs of daily life,
Choosing to turn away
From moments appearing as iridescent sun rays
As if God's fingers reached
Between the clouds
To touch the earth.
Yes, we turn away,
Pick up kids,
A trip to Wal-Mart,
And to work,
The mundane of every day,
Yes, it must be done,
To hurry toward the waiting,
While living holding sand,
the elemental breath before death.
A screeching hawk climbs overhead,
Gliding, swooping in pursuit,
Her flight a perfect merger
Of beauty, purpose, and skill.
If only, if only
I could capture such a hawk
Train and bend
That beauty and skill
To do the bidding of my will.
Sent forth from my hand
In a powerful surge of wings,
Finding the perfect draught of air
To glide upon,
Turning, searching for prey,
Then sighting her trophy, her prize,
Sweeping down, a beat of wings,
A shift of body,
What seems a pause,
Squeezing, sinking into a snake’s skin,
Wings beat, once, twice,
A cry as she lifts her body
And her limp prize,
Upon the air to glide,
The purity of her purpose,
A dance upon the air,
If only, if only
From my hand could fly
Such beautiful purity of purpose.
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