Poetry:

words. Words. Words
but not too many: just
enough and more
than we understand
at first or ever. Infinite

song. Song surrounds
us: mocks us: alarms
us: soothes us: takes
us under its wing and crashes
over us over and over
an incessant hum:
a cicada nagging for
a mate in pre-summer

heat. Beauty. Landscape. Lines.
Black blobs dotting white
sand beaches of patience
awaiting the wave
that pulls them slowly
back into the sea
one note at a time.
We all return: endless

reprises if not this day then
the next. Loss:
a temporary position:
a pose that strikes
us: our minds a match
head: involuntary child: arms
stretched out before
us: faces to the ground:
a prayer.

Life:

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

"Why won't you let me live?"
peace whispers
from the crowded corners
and crumbling alleys,
out of dark spirals
and grasping blackouts,
with echoing eagerness
and raspy pleading,
to throbbing dissonance
and silent power.
"Why won't you let us live?"

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

sacrum   a tree rooted
sternum   a petal unfurled
scapula   an outcrop rising
skull   a tectonic array

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

wills will battle
wills will vie
for focus and primacy
wills will deny
any sign of weakness
and distract from all pain
wills will be proud
wills will be vain
wills will maneuver
to come out on top
wills will push harder
when we tell them to stop
wills will ignite us
build our own private hells
wills will reveal us
when we lie to ourselves

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

Wonder, where do you come from?
A gift of compassion or
a flash of insight?
A full cup in a steady hand or
a fountain ever refilling?
What feeds your roots,
what fuels you,
what sets your stage,
empty and waiting to be
filled with color and sound
and magic?
Can we grow you or
must we sit
in the dark
impatiently crinkling our programs,
squirming with anticipation?
And when you surprise us,
meet us around a street corner,
make us stop
and change,
where were you headed
if not here?

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

Cultivating coulds takes care:
watchful eyes and nimble fingers
to spot signs of yellowing worry
and hungry-hungry fear-mongers
creeping around leaf-edges and
crawling up healthy stalks; to nip
should-buds, to pinch and pull
encroaching supposed-to-weeds;
to see and treat the threats that
seek to feast on your desires and
deplete your dreams. Protect these
precious crops with patience and
persistence: plotting and plodding
will grow what-ifs into what is.

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

Smurf blue and cloudless,
our outersphere glows — earthly
copies put to shame.

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

Like a sculptor chipping away
at unformed stone to reveal
the masterpiece waiting within,
we spend our days shrieving,
stripping the hurt, lonely layers,
peeling the protective skins fear
believed we needed, pulling off
cloak and shroud and veil to leave
our light unencumbered at last,
shining just as it always has, but
brighter without our shadows
to dim us.

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

The world turns green before me.
The path cleared, balance restored,
takes given, gifts taken. Blades
soar! Leaves open doors to new
skins, new cores. Their glittering
shadows reveal more than they
cover: a whisper, a roar.

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

“Maybe I can shine, too,”
wonders the child
with a firefly
trapped under glass,
eyes ablaze in possibility.
Yet even as their little hands clasp
those glowing prison walls,
they leave the darkness unplumbed.
Yes, let the light
move you, my loves,
awe you and lead you forward,
but don’t forget
the scared, trapped creature,
that cloud of twitching apprehensions,
who sits in the cavern of your belly,
begging for the rush of fresh air.

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

Orange light spills
over the horizon,
ending the long sleep
and the cold night:
dawn—the next miracle
—pulling back the shroud,
lifting our voices from us.
Intuition settled and
meditation complete,
an alarm blares,
calling us to action.

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love notes
a ritual to start the week