well wishes and penny flips
pens flick and twist into
new loops and familiar doom
eyes droop no room to squirm
to shiver and quip to dish
why fish for half burnt wicks
so peculiar this worm
this hook this line so fine
our morning stretches
our metered sips of wine
so even these stitches
this needle prodding us on
with shoulder squeezes
brief and sincere embraces
raised brows vows to remain
and refrain to stay and
make way for wishes
for eyelash whisps and
repeating ones and first stars
and old scars and eager faces
crashing with fresh tears
on hot beaches cheeks
rising with grins spinning
gnashed teeth into golden rings
reservations set aside time
and time and time can tick
and we can tap it out as often
and as feverishly with new tools
and old as graceful or as faceless
as our winding ways allow but
love — with you I glide.

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

Joy, if we allow it,
can unknit our brows,
can snip at the hemwork
that keeps in our dreamwork,
can sever the threads
that bind up our dread
with what merely seems
instead of what is,
can cut through the seams
of our corset, our shoulds,
and allow us to fashion
our fortunes from coulds.

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

What we have for others
we so rarely keep for ourselves
and what we see in ourselves
we so rarely find elsewhere. 

Sun streaks between parting clouds
and the heart lifts,
a breath caught in widened eyes,
suddenly so certain the universe
is huge, yes, and beautiful.

Chins on our chest and eyes closed,
our words soar, boundless
into infinity, yes, and beyond,
following a path etched deeply
into space, a familiar vibration,
short and shaky, a breath catching. 

Grace.

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

Your blushing buds burst for
my deep inhale, accepting delicacy,
your satin lashes soft against
my nose-tip, fingers gingerly avoiding
your thorns — we’re here together,
now. Yet through our tangled roots,
we reach back with pasts clasped,
hand-in-hand, eyes wide held by the
sun’s arc into darkness. Tomorrow,
we shape each other for; comfort,
we grace each other with; ease,
we know we share.

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love notes
a ritual to start the week

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