This circle of hope
holds out its lips
to feel the whisper of wind
sigh its name--
that name
known to the most lowly of creatures.

I turn to hold
your heart on my mouth,
where I hold
the breath of time.

Moving into the essence
of blood,
of the tear,
of heart’s incessant beat,

I know
in the small secret part of my soul
that I will speak your name forever
to the winds
and rain
and in the hall
of the end of my time.

i stand at low tide, heart receding
my toes squishing gushy sand
tiny skyscrapers rise up and fall
toes press downward
seeking purchase
i look out and see the mudflats
teaming with the small creatures of life
digging their way deeper
to find a tiny surge of water
the solace of home
a thimbleful of water
so trivial
so significant
my heart lies thirsty
as I dig down further
seeking my own surge.

Night beckons
and moon, full of restive temptation
answers fruitfully—
Incline yourself
upon the seal of my soul
and bend my ear
that I may again
hear the gentle murmurings
of earth’s heart
beat in time with my own.

O tender, tender moon
you leave the imprint
of your maidenhood
as you salve
the dry earth
your moon’s blood bestowing.

Sow your seed
in the time of new moon
and yield,
again and again
to the carpet of heaven’s door.

He lay down amidst grasses so tall
they hide his eyes from his soul.
He lay among the ants
captivated by his Herculean hair,
curls creating bridges
oily black and lustrous.
He lay down
his weighted frame
burying tender shoots below.
Aching--
He traced the paths of wren and jay
their cawing jarring muscle from frame.
Aching--
and wondered when the rain
would claim him
the water submerge his heart.
Aching, aching
a
c
h
i
n
g

I miss you baby.

Seems like I cain’t get warm no more

and winter’s a comin on soon.

I didn’t think I’d make it this far

with you gone.

I wish I could still feel

the heat of the July day

you passed.

I try.

But I cain’t no more

You’re both gone.

A’times I miss you so much

I feel like I’m gonna break

But then I look up

And still see that old dusty table

In front of me.

How many years we had that table?

Corn bread don’t taste the same off it.

Not so sweet in my mouth now.

I picked up your coveralls the other day.

I keep ‘em in that old trunk mama gave me.

They still smell like you,

your sweet sweat and tabacca

And the gin you’d sneak when you thought I wasn’t lookin’.

I needed a new blanket

but there just wasn’t enough for it.

So I took all your coveralls

And stitched ‘em--

I hope you don mind"

Into a blanket--

And covered myself in you,

So I can smell you and dream of you

Through the long winter.

The heart tells the story
of years together
punctuated
with episodes of laughter
sparkling with
the tears
of life's tiny tragedies

wrinkled with age
folded along lines unseen
for convenient transportation
in pocket
or purse

unfolded gently
in the wave
of autumn's starry heat

warped by the tears
of dusty roads
unkempt tar
and the asphalt of many miles

unbound in love
worn with care
this heart
radiant still
beats
with love and heat
found fresh in the careful glance
that tentative terrain
of love's perfect glance.

I had not intended to write this today
As the sun shines
Through waning days of autumn
I had thought to write
Or of my garden, overgrown
Or of my love for husband or daughters
But
Out of every pore
Loneliness crept out
Showing its face in decayed light
Not joy
Not even ever-defining chores
That surround and fill my day
But the loneliness
That seeps into
Crevices and bone
Making marrow of nights and days
In timely fashion
Perhaps
This was not what I asked for
Or maybe not
But nonetheless
It crowds my thoughts
And permeates my view
I am tempted to cry
The tears of resignation
But remain dry-eyed
In the face of this
My enduring legacy of fear
When I am no more
Will you have known
My secret heart
Will you have found this,
My secret notebook of dreams?