pushing up the attic door
a nearly lifeless cold rolls down in a palpable wave
their memories of a farmhouse 1910, the brick and mortar that made
the foundation of the strongest people I have ever known.

We'll warm it up! They exclaim, with cheer-
tell that to ancient blankets and damp dense quilts
that haven't seen a living body in the past six months
lumpy mattress and the simple single thickness of wood
three feet above the head of the bed

very still, then, wrapped in darkness and
a quiet weight shared by those entombed
I hope that if I do not move, I might not die
as the heat from my 10year old boy body
chips away at neglect and assumption
my trust in big people challenged yet again-

now there is something, movement: flutter: let the games begin!
A mouse, in all His Joy, runs back and forth across my chest
knowing we have been placed here for each other
to keep good company
this dark and deep winter night.

The north wind off the lake tears and cries
at the window screens and shingled roof
I have long since stopped listening and found
that place that eludes me now,
a peaceful place alone with all the memories
and a mouse curled up and dozing next to me
and there is no one about the place
that has a single care in this world

All this day
I have felt you lying dead
in the next room
waiting for me to find you
you are gone now
years past count
death has become
my father

All this day
I have felt you lying dead
in the next room
waiting for me to find you
you are gone now
years past count
lite the pyre
walk away

From the harsh strains on the wind
a small harmony is forming
and it calls him, blackwing
to settle on the wire
to watch the many majiks
take a form to suit the day

unmoved by  the story
growing tenfold stronger
in the moment of the witness
she kneels to pick up
the still still birds; delicate ******* and feathers
still remember the endless flights
their faces soft and sweet.

out into the sunny space, outside the house
and near the river
she rests them down upon a stone.

by means unknown except in riddles
her heart engages the spell that
everyone carries but few can see
and makes from the dear dross
castaway of this life
the golden floating mantle that will bring us
comfort for a time before
it becomes the brightest light as it
was meant to be, for that is where
we all come from; that is where we go

crow's heart is full: he heard the calling
this is the song he is meant to sing!
where to start? and how to phrase it?
everyone must hear! everyone can already feel it
warmth that drives away the darkness
lights the place of hate and confusion
the majik that we all wear
the golden mantle here and now
it is a round and all will sing
crow leaps up, and without a thought of failure
he falls into the sky

The gray of morning
and when you rise, from travel far that holds no name
you will go to the yard, as you did before
and in a bowl your grandma made
feed the crows your fresh let blood

they line the fence, dark against dim
their eyes so bright, silent, still-
they will drink the dream you've given them
it is only kindness that brings there here
this is not their home
they would rather have the berries
that you picked with the dog

they knew, in the night
each labored breath-
pleading forgiveness for a sin
that never was

will this button help, so yellow bright?
A lapis necklace we found by the bay?
Can our char-black wings cover your eyes
and take you to the place
where it all began?

We don't want your ****** tithe, given in mistaken shame
we don't believe that story of guilt
passed along, hand to hand by
every silly child so raised
to believe in only shades of gray

soon the sun is on the trees
drop your gown and fly with us-
there is no ground beneath your feet,
why cling to things that don't exist?

There is so much more than bitter blood
taken hard in biting pain
to share for breakfast with the fold-
tell us now, your Real True Name....

she turned to catch
the first full light
her shadow strong then dropped away
the warming blue was full of birds
she rose above to join the day




her footprint stayed there, in the sand
the bowl dried brown, it filled with rain-
clothes lay scattered on the rocks
a shoe no foot would fit again

creeping vetch, near wild sweet peas
lilac crazed from time alone
the lawn that has become the meadow-
the meadow that has become her home

they laugh out loud; no ears to hear them
black wings touching, one to another
you will feel them pass over, if you roll in that moment
when sleep drags you down and strips you bare

find the first light, then, way out in the garden
stand quite still, waiting, with berries and seeds
black birds on a fence and a bowl full of water
here to tell you that your day has come

the gate has swung shut, it will not be opened
your ticket is paid, there is nothing owed
open your hands and give us the gift now
here is the sun- no looking back

good morning to you, the last drop of your family,
distilled into this fluttering bird form,

buoyed endlessly by unseen songs of many generations, spirits all having fun, marching in circles around your life, banging pots and pans, wearing aprons and overalls and their Best Sunday Clothes; picking flowers and baking pies; making with their hands,

and always talking, laughing, talking talking until it becomes a near solid in the affairs of the worlds,

and you, whether you know it or not, get to wear it all like the blanket around your shoulders that is just enough to keep going, on the coldest of nights.

Sitting on the couch, trying to remember
After my mother left my dad: I don’t know who cut my hair.
I doubt I went months and months
Until I saw my grandmother again

I know it wasn’t dad, that wasn’t in his box of tricks
Though his hands were beautiful beyond compare
And created the same in so many ways.

But this didn’t include a sad boy’s hair
And besides, he wouldn’t have had the time
Or interest.

I missed a lot of school that year
The sickness coming that would dog my heals
Until this very day
The death of art; the closure of a soul to the outside world
The retreat and seclusion to make sense of that
Which cannot be sensible.

And when they said they would hold me back
He came to the school like a small hot flame
And scorched the Principle off his feet
Scared that huge man into another county
I had never seen anything like it
And wondered why he would protect me so
When he didn’t particularly know how to like me
Like anyone or anything, in those days-
I guess I was his kid, is all
And that’s what fathers did.

I still can’t remember who cut my hair
But then again, there are lots of things I
Cannot remember and wouldn’t do so if you paid me.
I can feel them still but the details are well placed
Beneath the foggy glass of time
And convenience.