a ritual to start the work week
Rabbits spring from hats like it’s
the 77th Annual Amateur Magician Conference’s
midnight reenactment of Watership Down,
but what we could all really use right about now is
a vanishing act:
a box revealing nothing;
the curtain pulled back to an empty stage;
the wonder of sudden stillness
and space;
that moment our collective breath catches
and the long
slow
sigh
that follows.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
this bridge’s expanse
wider once but now less so
stitch over a wound
slow revelation
between lines of poetry
of the self of selves
bricks and personas
crumbs left in my pastry bag
finally sated
love notes
a ritual to start the week
What chances have seeds to
unpack their potential,
come out of their casings
and transform, and become,
as beaks nip and claws dig
to quiet gaping mouths,
as winds blow, heat sizzles
and ice splinters the ground?
When facing the onslaught,
what chances of living
to see the light and seed
again, again have seeds?
And still, we have forests.
Still meadows. Still wetlands.
Still towering redwoods.
Still wildflowers, teeming.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
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?"
love notes
a ritual to start the week
sacrum a tree rooted
sternum a petal unfurled
scapula an outcrop rising
skull a tectonic array
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
love notes
a ritual to start the week
