I was a mythical creature once.

I lived in a small picturesque town
next to a little hole of blue water.

I sang the sweetest songs.

Mortal man never heard the like before.
They wandered by to listen very often.

They say my feathers fairly sparkled
and if the sun lived closer he might outshine me.

There was darkness that the feathers covered.
No one could tell what destruction lurked beneath.

But I lived to sing that song.
Morning, noon and night. I put my heart in it.
I never faltered, but once

and I looked in the placid lake to see my own reflection.
The monster that looked back at me grinned
at my surprise.
The darkness laughed out loud.

And I did nothing but climb that tall live oak.
As close as I could get to the sun
and I built my nest with twigs.

I lined it with bits of color, silken scraps
to echo my plumage.
And I lined it with sweet-smelling spices
cinnamon and lavender and myrrh.

And then I sang my best last song
'til the suns rays came too, too close.

I kept singing til my last breath was ash
until the day that I will begin again.

(I think it is telling me to sit still like this and reflect for a moment)

the rain brushed her hips along the fingertips of the mountains
someone is grinding a tear drop of mine between two stones

the moon is no help to me now

light sings a squeaky lullaby and i am lost to the rhythm

kicking my feet inside the womb of this sun
though I do not remember dancing or listening

she was a whisper that cried into a mountain
and I was her fantasy, slipping thoughtlessly into a dream

she was a wraith singing songs of longing
and the loveliest one of all was the one she sang to me

i followed the sound up the mountain
she was a faceless vision and my steps never faltered

the curve of time disappeared into the horizon
she was behind me, like a puzzle pressed against the sky
a sky giving birth to the back of my mind

she touched my hand and nodded upward
eyes alight with the shimmer of a summer moon

it's all impulse, there's very little conscious thought to it

they tell me
i saved a life
once

it felt like surgery
self-inflicted

the incision widened
day-by-day

my reluctant hand
reached in

i cut my heart out
to save a soul

and here i sit

grieving

all the pretty

lives lost

i remember playing red rover
and ghosts in the graveyard

monopoly and chinese checkers
and yahtzee and spades

i remember playing wife
and mother

and employee of the month

i walk dangerously close
to the edges of my life
sometimes

but i never play there

i've known a summer storm
come sudden
out of blue clouds

i've rushed for cover
and prayed
against
bolts of lightning
that walked too near

i've watched the skies
waiting
for the winds that might come close
and devour
me

i've known a tempest
that rages in a heart
and wails so loud
that sunlight can't
shine through

There is no shelter
from the storm
no rest

seasons rage
and the storm wears me thin

there must be
rest

some of those vital statistics are undeniable

i may be five eleven and a half
but i generally round the number down
(my son exaggerates me into the six foot range)

my eyes are brown
and my hair

but someone who craves my voice
may tell you that they never notice
either

age changes, not year by year
but moment by moment

wisdom sometimes measures me a hundred or more
and joy may number me a child
with shining eyes

i can accomplish temporary feats
of domestic talent
sew a quilt to keep you warm
bake a cake to keep you fed

but my voice accomplishes phenomena
that defy description

i make miracles
sometimes
when folks aren't looking

nothing as tall as a skyscraper
something less tangible
and ordinary
as light or healing

my size may be slight
i may be timid
or bold
depending on the weather

storms wither
clouds focus

i had a vision
for where this was going
when i started
maybe someday
I'll get there

anna has been carrying around
the dog-eared Robert Frost lately
she wants to read poetry with me

and sometimes we read bedtime poems
and sometimes i put her off til a little later
because there's always time for frost

but this morning
when we were waiting for the school bus
i thought to distract her

and had her looking at the tree in the field across the road
and how the branches laced through the blue black sky
and stars shone through the cracks like tree ornaments

and i had her taste the deliciousness of cold air in a new year
i told her that was poetry

and she said
that i should put it in my next
book of poetry

and i wondered if we shouldn't write it together

it occurred to me this morning
as i was building a fire in the four-legged cast iron stove
that my technique wouldn't win me any prizes from boy scouts

i would have to say
that the way i get around to warmth and light
is similar to the way
i do just about anything else

a little of this
            and a little of that

bits of paper
strewn on the floor

a handful of broom sweepings

dryer lint

a fervent wish for leftover coals from the night before

a charcoal briquette or two

kindling

the dance that happens cause i forgot to open the damper

peaceful meditation

smoke in the living room

another lit match

     and finally a flame and a crackle

amazing when miracles
suddenly manifest
beach-birds rising and circling
high above the Audubon
mystery steeps in unfurled wings
we slow down
for a smile and a sigh
passing gracefully over
barely noticeable steps..
close and hollow..
ghost ***** ephemerally longing
for a moonbeam's generous hands
a universe dispatches
a casual touch
conflict, contrast..
each mating w/in its own species
the spirit is migratory..
eternal as we coexist naturally
lines are blurring
and separation becomes less apparent.
We are woven into the fabric
of the Universe.
we slow down
for a smile and a sigh
and you take my hand
And, yet, somehow
in transcendent moments

we are the miracles

i used to dress my words up in all their sunday glory
before i sent them out into the world
squeaky clean and sunday morning i was determined
to let my little light shine

forget a blue period
my next phase was all about
boiled down to the bare bones honest
pretty didn't have any consideration
or private
but my words met metal

then the weather turned wet
and i sobbed along
wringing my grief out of loose pages
and you still stopped by
and sometimes you'd even sing along

then i prayed to be taller
to stand straighter
to be more of what i am

i got lazy and lined literal words up
all in a row
lauded for creative
cause everybody knows things like that
can't literally happen

somebody's in my head again
stretched out between those two earholes
they've done been in there for two days
maybe more
don't know what they're lookin for

i keep all the shiny stuff put away
with the butterflies
and the spiders webs

and my thoughts
they all wear different languages
the kind i talk in my sleep
and you won't know them anyhow
you haven't met them too close before

somebody's in my head again
pushing,pushing
straining, yearning

and i wish i knew who it could be

it sounds like an old joke

i've lost over a thousand pouds
over the years

what, you say?

how can that be?

when a soul is born
to learn the biggest lesson
well, sometimes,
you have to go through some stuff

sometimes, you have to starve
to appreciate the end of famine

and so i am learning
to say goodbye
to those who can't
or won't
love me

maybe i will still be
a blessing to those folks
somehow

but right now
i've got to roll up my sleeves
and learn that biggest lesson.