Sunday, October 2, 2016

Riding my bike to work with the noisy traffic, i dream of a sleepy morning
some years after this. The "me" i have become runs
through quiet sunrise songs and breakfast fire smoke.
People stare from open mud doorways.
They don't move.
His feet pat the dust
and his breath cries
out in joy.
i look toward the sky and the mountain.
my Great Grandson is young and strong.
Someday, the people will watch without moving
and i won't be afraid.
Today, i still hide my tears in smiles.
Especially from men.
But really, from anyone.

sometimes we find
only part of a trail
next to a rock
sheltered from the wind
or one bean plant
with painted seeds
among many
that bare plainly
or an arrowhead in the sand
the past falls into our hands
a gift
if we can see it
we ask questions
who left this?
and when?
and if we walk that way
what will our trail look like?

Friday, April 29, 2016

just
give me the dirt
in dry pinches and loamy handfuls
dusted all over the skin
of my thighs
open sky
and cry me some clear
water
into cup joined
palms
and all the rest
will be there too
quietly breathing
into my ear
something like a story
or a song
yes, i've lost
the clear path
that used to be taught
and, at times,
i even forgot
that i was on my way
home
but now a familiar
shape beckons in the distance
and i can smell the hearth
fire of my blood

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

the Seasons as i understand them now

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Thursday, March 3, 2016

each touch
on hand or shoulder
or leg
gently asks a question

and kisses
whisper promises

sex shouts
ecstatically solemn
vows

now we stand here
on the edge
please step carefully with me

start listening
beyond words
and i will give you
all my answers

and tell me yours
dear one
with your lips
breathless
and heartfire
in your eyes

Saturday, January 23, 2016

from the train
near LA union station
glimpses of a river
the narrow
channel overflows
its sharp sides
onto a concrete flood plain
one man sits upright wrapped
in blankets
watching the water
stilts and mudhens
wade the shallows
culvert tributaries surge
colorful words
everywhere covered
in a patchwork
of white and gray paint
another man walks
shirtless and dripping
bare feet longing
for willow leaves
and mud
and even the stings
of blackberry vines
he wipes his hands
over his face and head
looking toward
the mountains