a ritual to start the work week
exhaust me
don’t let me catch my breath
leave me gasping
run me down
run me ragged
show me how it feels to lose myself
lose my head
leave this body
bury it in heaving
break this shell
feed us the pieces
make us grow
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Shadows of leaves, standing
before the mango sunrise,
shimmer across the bookshelf,
indistinct sequins cleansing
night’s rough spots from
our shared body. Curious,
isn’t it? How we wake
and walk and wonder,
when the answers slide
so simply into our rooms
each morning.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Summer storms cheer us —
thunder hugging our silent
solitude from us.
Rain reminds us of
us — its weight and nourishment
ours to bear and share.
Not tears, raindrops won’t
fall alone and we — we must
feel them together.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Grown giant in stillness, amplified
by emptiness, we dream clarity
into being. Seeing warnings
unheeded, breaths held, untaken,
made mile-markers by mistaken
graces — troubles doubled, trembles
trebled — humorless tremors rumble
through our femurs, form rumors
that splinter our fragile frames, bones
turned thorns. Arise — we chose floating
over flying, clouds over skies; these
notes — crumbs tumbling from
pockets, blazes lighting ways through
mazes — firm up our churning
stomachs, settle our guts to clear
these ruts and ride nearer our
fear — that cliff-edge begging to be
tested.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Your match
need
not
burn
for
long
nor
feed
some
high
fire;
just
show
them
its
glow.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
lush grows my love
in the face of the fire
unfettered by fences
undeterred by desire
the yearning to yoke
our learning our bounds
births scorched earth
begets barren ground
nourishing freedom
needs hoes to be mended
for greed can flourish
in gardens untended
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Day breaks under the deep amber prairie sunset
as a darkening haze hangs over the hill-less horizon.
My heart, like tree-limbs heavy with memory,
reaches skyward for light, for any opening.
And the faint cry of a new branch aching into existence
echoes from afar in the palm of my hand.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
How the night?
And how the day?
How the April?
And how the May?
How when summer
comes for June
does the light up there
burn through the moon?
How the fire?
And how the well?
How the prayer?
And how the spell?
How when you
envelope me
am I more I
as we turn we?
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
To know the middle, we must know the end,
but so few finishes tip their approach,
their modes and momentum, magic, besides.
How then can we calculate our halflife?
How come we to comprehend our climax?
To reconcile our first words with our last?
Perhaps by knitting, looping in loose ends;
or gardening, tending blooms, weeding beds.
Perchance, to know, to be, we dance instead.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
1 line
2 words
3 points
4 songs
5 stars
6 lungs
7 sighs
8 stares
9 knives
10 wounds
11 wars
12 doves
13 trees
14 groves
15 plots
16 peaks
17 slopes
18 gains
19 gone
20 tales
21 trails
22 tries
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
They come in waves:
the heat and hope,
meaning, mizè:
spheres of spirals
that spike and poke
as they ebb, flow:
balls of bands, gas
that snap and spurt:
their consistence
hidden behind
their confluence.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
