I do not wish to speak for the trees.
I wish for them to speak through me.
If you listen,
Nature’s voice crashes upon the shore,
She whispers at dusk,
And moans through the murky cattails.
How dare we silence such art.
At times,
We paint her playful green a mucky black.
And we expect her whimsical warbling to wash away our worries.
Why do we extort her this way?
Does mother really owe us such things?
Let us lay in the mud and play,
Let us gather her stories, and sway as she sings.
By sitting, waiting, watching.
Holding, pausing.
We will put ourselves aside while she grows.
We will stay long past the sunset glow.
For when dark follows light,
The show does not end.
The show never ends, nor begins.
And we can only know the meaning of life,
When we finally join in.

Your ebullience — my elixir.
Your structure — my realm.
My charmer,
My frolick-footed, arm-in-arm,
My wintertide warmer.
My bicycle bell,
My penny well of unwary wishes.
You capsize my worries,
Choke the vexed fires,
And anchor my fleeting desires.

I love loving you,
And lick kisses that glue giggles and memory moments to the palm of my hand,
Where I hold your leash
On long walks on the beach.
But my mind of wishing wells and wishful thinking,
It ponders the day that we part,
And my eyes and my heart sink,
The thought of the shortness of your life,
And the longness of mine,
And I ask the world, “why?”
But I think more.
And the world answers.
One day I will lose you,
I will go to put on my shoes
And no excitable, fluffy leaping pup
Will wait for her coat and her rope
To tag along, and sing songs
In her mom’s car,
And bark at the bustling city walkers
On windy sidewalks.
One day,
I will go to lay my head on my pillow,
And no wiggly warm lump will plop in the
Crevice of my bent legs,
Dreaming dreams of treat begging,
And taking walks at sunset.
Yes, one day I will lose you
But I will bravely hold that burden,
If it means,
That you’ll never lose me.
Until the day you must go,
I’ll spoil you in every way,
And love you endlessly,
And protect your tiny, padded feet
From hot pavements and salty streets
And keep your smiles and tail wags
In tip top shape.
Until the day you must go,
I’ll cherish the minutes and seconds,
And the second thoughts of why-nots
When we take risks and cross bridges,
Together as doggy and mom.
I’ll strengthen the bond,
Until my hands tire,
The same hands that belly rub
And hold water for your panting tongue,
And grip your leash when we run.
You’ll never know the sadness
Of my leave,
Or grieve at my wooden box,
Or wonder if you’ve heard my last step in the hallway,
While you lay alone.
No,
That is my fate to bare,
And I will be there,
The day you must go,
And I will feel the stab of sad and the long-lasting sting of goodbye,
But I will bravely hold that burden
Til the day it comes true,
If it means that you’ll never have to.

Come with us.
Open your locked doors; your closed mind.
Archaic ways are dead,
And we spread no offerings along the coffin elm.
Forward is the way of the universe.
You are a person like me,
And they are a person like him.
When deemed unfit to move up in the world,
Along with the rest,
You are delivered six feet down.
Horizontal regrets.
But a regret reverberating too late,
Won’t be loud enough to penetrate the fertile earth,
In which we grow the flowers you cut;
The forsythias we frolic in your absence.
You wish them forget-me-nots,
But not one will remember your thoughts.

Painted plastic, the brushes stroke,
Camouflaged as diamond stone,
Beneath the cloak of white-blue sky
The granite cries alone.

Above the puddle, although wee
His belly masked in lily pad
The pond beside, he takes a peek
While wishing he was grand.

Poking out of tortoise attire,
The bird beak pecks the grounded corn,
Though the other winged prey higher,
She yearned to be earth-bourn.

If we fill the water of wishing wells,
If we gladly call the puddle a pond,
We break biologic boundary spells
And sing our fateful songs.

I.
Bare-footed frolic,
In forest of peril,
To dine with the swine,
Though filthy and feral,
We eat with the pig,
We feast on the wheat,
We banish the wolf,
Who we don’t wish to meet.

II.
Below, befallen brothers,
Laying vertical in oak,
Defend my earthly body
Cover me in cloak.

Souls of loved departed,
Who whistle in the trees,
Redirect the cacodemon
The one who waits for me.

Spirit of the past,
Soothe with healing chants
Be my blinded eyes,
Protect me when I can’t.

III.
Bewitching
Betwixt the realm
Betwixt the elm and willow
Climb the hill
Of counting sheep
In search of sleep
Along your pillow.
Let eyes grow weary more;
Let dreams,
Let nightly scenes redeem,
And let soar
The fairy who flies
In search of eyes, wide awake.
Let me find
The lullaby,
To lull to rest
Until the next daybreak.

IV.
Which one will help me there?
The owl or the fox?
The leaping frog beyond the marsh,
The eagle or the hawk?
Who will be my spotting eye?
The “X” that marks my way?
I need the spirit’s guiding light
To not be led astray.

V.
Fire, red
And fire, high,
Beyond the line,
Beyond the sky
Ball of light,
Sphere of gas
Bless my soul
And cleanse my past.

Nightly phase,
Nightly scene,
Moon of magic
Time of dreams,
Wish me well,
Come to play,
Guide my footing,
Guide my way.

Vineyard of vermilion.
A bind holding hands in entranced sky,
While the bird lays beneath,
And the pig flies.

The labyrinthine stone,
The intricate, desired key.
We mourn the ****** flesh
Between crooked teeth.

I’m cold in my blanket.
The diamond pen writing ugly names,
While we encourage
The very same.

We pick-pocket the honey of bees,
And sinking eyes notice more
Than the spyglass.
We ask the wrong questions.
Fire knows a place beneath my skin,
My heart of fertile earth,
Unscathed by the cult or the creed.

Vigour of the bully,
The scar of the fossilized abuse,
While bodies dangle
Of the mangled noose.

Graveyard pursuit;
We dig the bones of yesteryear,
But we don’t clean off the dirt,
Or wipe the tear.

Beyond the known sky,
Truth lives in a lonely house.
When the lunch bell rings,
The lion is food for the mouse.

We pick-pocket the honey of bees,
Unscathed by the cult or the creed.