I am still here,
knowing I should go
this tricky desert loses me in mirage,
the hastening heat and fire are at my feet,
I cannot move, entranced by yellow, orange skies
this ocotillo forest swallows me whole, disappearing
forgetting the wounds, the stickery blood of cactus spines
learning and unlearning, the ways of these waters
ever thirsty, drinking, drowning.
Half asleep and in the distance, with arms reaching out
the grasping, the breathlessness of pulling tight
the restlessness of amnesia - all of this sleeping
our shadows dancing in and out of dreams.
Dialectic ripples from stones thrown,
deeply felt, though seemingly sinking
receding slowly into night skies
adrift in the planetary, steely void.
There is a holiness in the wind
these wisps of diaphanous clouds that fly
always I smile in the gentlest of winds that kiss
oh, but I do not like the harshness of winds that whip
how they come to blow the hollow of darkness
toward the light again, things buried underground
places - like death, the stabbing pains
I've met, awakened while
seeing and feeling.
I cannot stand these cages we make
see how we fly, how we try to be free
I have let go of every bird, I've ever thought I owned
I see them in dreams now and then
I watched their wings turn against the winds
saw some tattered, fly home again.
I loved the swoop and dive
the diaphanous delight of downy feathers
in winter, gathering cozy all around me
I am mesmerized by dark wings
the trick and glint of light
it warms like fire, a place
to dream by.
I think it quite strange living here, walled by this house
when I was wilder than now, I lived in nature
stalking birds and pollen laden, blooming things
always my toes in sands or hot footed in summer
I was in love with the sky, no matter the weather
in storms I hid beneath branching cedars
sleeping on mossy pillows, in the woods of my backyard
I never gave much thought to houses then, I only went there
to sleep or eat and waited to leave again
waited for an inkling of sun to warm the cold grass
spent days climbing trees, red plums and cherries
I imagined that's how life would always be,
living outdoors under the sun or clouds
wet with rain, always picking flowers.