my mind wraps tightly around an idea,
but like a rag being rung and twisted unto itself
loses the very water it tries so desperately to hug,
my thoughts seep through the cracks of my word's grasps
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 7:20 PM UTC
Sea asks
- why are we here?
Sky, she always answers
- because the tree called to us
he called to us for life and a home
endless Sea asks
- does he not feel enveloped?
and Sky, she always answers
- my darling:
A tree amidst a forest can know no bounds
as everywhere around him
there is only more of him
he is one with himself and his earth.
Sky, her
one eye cratered white
the face of the moon
the other blazing gold
the reflection of the sun
she reaches down to touch the Sea
she whispers:
Time is our mother,
she sends us forward with hope
and clutching his hands,
they dance around the tree
wondering the wonders of the world
into existence under the stars.
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 6:13 PM UTC
the children
they dance with their death carelessly,
take it by the hand to the river
and let it swim free
the men and women
they grapple with their death angrily,
duel with it in a meadow
and wrestle it into a pocket they can't see
the white-haired wisened
they smile with their death peacefully
walk as old friends
down the autumn road to the sea.
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 6:08 PM UTC
what does she do with her hands?
they lie in her lap, and her tapestry falls to the floor
when the woven basket that carried food to the table
breaks under the weight of time,
my daughter will starve
what does she do with her hands?
they lie in her lap, and her tapestry falls to the floor
when the clay that sculpted gods
is dried and cracking and lacking water,
my son too will die of thirst
what does she do with her hands?
they lie in her lap, and her tapestry falls to the floor
when the leaves that adorned the pillows of our bed
burn up in the fire of technology's rumbling belly
there will be no desire to touch the world
and what should she do with her hands?
she must pick them up from her lap
and heal the earth.
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 6:03 PM UTC
I linger to dream
if only to touch you 'fore I wake
that in the shadow of a sheet
wisping night into day
I might spy your face,
blurred by its own echo
and reflected to me in sleep
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 5:58 PM UTC
she sits in front of this glass echo
feeling perverse by its reverse
as she traces the line of silver tears
on this stranger's face
she wonders whether years of stillness
will yield sings of aging
as she wastes away watching
for a better person to take her place
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 5:56 PM UTC