The sun
rose
then yellow then white,
sun rose
then out of sight.

The sun is rose,
time a morning glory
in the moonlight
and again reawakening.  

Winter roots,
snow over seed,
stars in the dark.
Bright, burning,
patient days in the making.

The sun rose,
ever blooming,
always fading,
never waiting.

“As a poet I hold the most archaic values on earth . . . the fertility of the soil, the magic of animals, the power-vision in solitude, the terrifying initiation and rebirth, the love and ecstasy of the dance, the common work of the tribe. I try to hold both history and the wilderness in mind, that my poems may approach the true measure of things and stand against the unbalance and ignorance of our times.”
― Gary Snyder

wanders on the last acre of a hill
with crooked flowing  turns like it tries to share
nourishment with every inch of ****
every root grows toward
on the corner where she turns the last
and heads down to the small waterfall
grows an oak
large as my dad when I was three
stately guards cross creek from turning away
from flowing in circles feeds the evergreens and every **** waiting down stream and all the fish
bristling
at all her banks.

The words flood from your lips.
I hold on by my fingertips,
but drown in them
anyway.

~~~
A gentle breeze was drifting soft
cooling sands
beside the sea
The shoreline cast with countless lore
a bounty
shared for free
An essence
smiled upon the wind
with pleasant times gone by
and spoke of treasured times he shared
as visions
blurred his eye
~
A tingle on his lonesome lips
a tear
mixed with a sigh
The cadence of a crashing wave
co-mingle
with a cry
The pangs of love grew stronger still
with every passing thought
They'd be together
soon
he promised
on a ship
that sails aloft
~
He slowly walked the tides of time
a cane gripped in his hand
The footprints ...
if you looked behind
showed more sets
in the sand
A loyal friend
stayed at his side
and ran
to fetch a stick
To fetch a smile from ones he loved
he'd do most any trick
~
At dawn's first light he met a boy
with fishing pole and bait
They reminisced
and spun some yarns
he talked about his fate
His heart was fading ...
borrowed time
he spoke of home with sacred grace
The boy had been there
many times
a gorgeous cliff above this place
~
His legs were failing
heart too frail
the boy packed up his gear
Arm in arm
they slowly climbed
a path to yesteryear
His little dog was first atop
a stick still clutched to play
The rising sun on golden dew
sent mist to greet the day
~
Near the edge
'neath shaded tree
they stopped to catch their breath
His finger traced its' trunk in trance
the boy and dog played fetch
The crash of surf
and seabird's song
were echoed through the years
The freshest air from heaven's sigh
inhaled ...
he shed his fears
~
A rolling mist rose up from sea
and hovered on the brink
A loving voice called out to him

... the boy knew not what to think ...

When fingers touched he stepped aboard
a ship of floating cloud
He turned and raised his hand
and smiled

"Please love our little dog"
~
The ship rose up on gentle breeze
they waved
it passed so frail
They'll be together always now
on a ship with heaven's sail
~
I was that boy so long ago
it seems like reverie
But if so ...
then where'd I get the dog
and whose initials are in this tree?
~~~

My body bewildered and depleted,
Fragile as the needy me that fed it
Nothing and everything,
Ravaged through the raw, wet decades
Of abuse, and despair.

Bile-tainted, anger-stained
I gazed up, up, and into myself.
Those were the eyes of a determined dreamer,
The heart of a lioness,
Slowly curving mouth prepared to roar.

I am a woman who has learned
I am not this belly, I am not this body,
It is mine, and theirs, and yours.
I gaze upon it, gladly now,
Finding something
Finally worthy of love.