Words

truths

truths hand themselves ruthlessly to the waiting and i stood before you with a large reed basket empty in my arms

this season is hard to leave creeps back with its microbes and chrytatine hand to layer itself shimmery this morning on tender growth, dark soil. by four-thirty, the sun not yet pulling at the dark resting barely warm against my sleeved arms bare trees pressing …

who will not

dusk falls on the highway earlier than it will 
for another year end meets beginning

hay fields tugging windows, open space kaleidoscope
green velocity freedom

three days gone to judicial duties 
these granite shoes full of swelling sadness

rendered immobile - the imperfect - for order
just exchange right hand truth for humanity

a vibrant view stretches up pink mountain 
eyes meet night and i can only think of the man 
who will not see it

but older

miracle the aging brain individual mind patterns congealing a routine– a soft cheese in whey – and comfort, conditioning maturing feels dense, definitive and we are none the wiser thinking we masterour neural pathways. the blunt edge of new passes soft through mapswe are but …

1/23/2014 Commute

I cannot slow down the movement from one place to another my journey and others just dashes and dots starts and stops a blue line map I am a shuttle cock erupting, then draggy wobble fitted flexible next to moms and suits adolescents sprung with …

acknowledging that the song enters of its own volition

each morning, as consciousness
filters its way through
the warm sand of sleep,
limbs and torso loosely feeling
sheets’ texture,
the weight of the mattress.
there is an incomparable
experience of both
here-ness and there-ness,
an existence governed by
physical science
– the mechanical snap of an alarm clock,
the rate at which a horn splits the dawn –
and the equal persistance
of sub atomic elasticity
every state refracted
into a book of possibility,
a root system of existance.
several rounds of breath
in……..out
hold the shimmery flux still
until an acknowledged exhale brings
the full weight of
skull upon pillow
the whisper of a song, it is always a song,
surfacing to wish a good morning.

Post ID: 396

rocking

lightness momentarily descends, lifting me under the arms with the crook of its elbows. flat plane of the floor through my shoes and the rocking but not the weight of my skin, my muscles, my organs, my breath. cradle my bones gently in thick, sturdy …

Post ID: 297

the path worn firm
each step step memory
stretched fingers break air
and put soft sound to it
fitting the hands like cotton gloves;
a parting to move against

morning light fits
and throws leaf shapes
to weighted wall
a barrier to roaming sheep
built in perfect stone
nestled low so the hand
can settle it comfortably

the tamped way within
this proposed symmetry
shoulders a century’s stride
contoured waving slopes
informed by parted hoof
cool morning air lying downy
in the hollows

thick with audible density
each step step directed
a leading repetition in
wide, rolling views
each breath breath
fresh and renewing

the day before
yesterday
and again
i will wake wanting
this