Sunday, April 9, 2017

Amulet for Time Travel


Walking through each gateway
time chapters, unseen traps,
let me be protected by this soft collection
gathered in an amulet.

Calling on all their gifts and powers,
the red-gold of my grandmother’s hair
lily-of-the-valley for grandpa, the gardener
R.B. the green of his printer’s visor
grandma B. the smell of fresh bread
and powerful honey.
From my father, a sepia photograph
and my mother, a silver mirror
and these are just from the capricious dead.
Who knows if they are paying attention
if they are larking about 
on their motorcycles
somewhere else.

Calling on the sweet living
the ones who give me love and flowers
and art and music and delicious
conversation and tough talk, too.
That is the purple heartbeat
of this guardian.

Sunday, April 2, 2017

Talisman

April 1, 2017

When you sat waiting
looking away from the paper,
waiting for the certain thing,
the image, the talisman
did it come in a flash?
a falcon of a realization
diving right into your heart?

When he became your vision
you created a beloved
more lovely than anyone, ever.
For you,
this light animated the whole world.
Waterfalls sang his songs,
leaves quivered his messages.

When did you know that beauty 
is not nearly enough?

Good Morning Lady Murasaki

April 2, 2017

Today I will design a purple doll for you,
a paper doll that can carry a poet’s dreams.
I’ll follow the river of time.
It flows from dawn’s
indecision to a steady sunrise
shaping the edges of this rough garden.
Here, high on a Northern plateau,
no one knows what will bloom or 
what will be killed on a frosty morning.

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Notes to Lady Murasaki - March 23rd, 2017


A mystery of folded time
crossing the wild and careless sea
paper boats sailing safely before
a wind of blue iris
a voice so sustained, so low
          and the murmur of a bamboo flute
caressing your message on silken paper
          covered again and precisely marked
living calligraphy,
Lady Murasaki

                    “I was here; I knew beauty.”

Friday, March 17, 2017

Winter and her Boyfriend

Winter and her boyfriend
death
locked in an icy tango,
their tight, slow spin
vanquished summer’s
red lust; hard, hard
drumming;
soft breath gone
to silver
topography.

We know it you and I,
sharing this bowl
of compressed
loss. 
We’ve been around.
We can tell a tiger 
from a lamb.

Sunday, January 29, 2017

savage power

savage power-
each day a morning after
the broken hearts, the longing
where are the kind angels?

yes, yes, “We are all one.”

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Concourse B - Cancelled Flight

               

down the center                                        moving walkways
on each side                                             free walkers
doubled on chrome ceilings                     again in glass trim, again, chrome edges
                            
passing cyphers, encrypted                      people rushing, or, just not really fast
horizontal intervals, posed                      atonal scores, sporadic citations
playing at getting somewhere                   flowing past each other                
                  
pompoms, baseball caps, ear muffs           annotations in hats
competing flows, chance kids                   grace notes pulling tiny bags
very special dogs in well-made sweaters    a few, au natural

at the lonely still point                               alien in this tube
drained phone                                            sleeping partner
a timed-out sentry                                      stuck in Denver

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