There are stories in your eyes.

I never told you how
sometimes I fell asleep
with the thought that you
were perhaps the moon-

always disappearing
with the dawn.

Sweet gentle daughter of dreaming blue eyes
Reflecting visions from some distant sphere;
Untainted by nightmares of icy fear,
Nor saddened yet by fate's mocking disguise.
Unopened book of fickle tomorrow,
Not certain of how future may unfold,
With hours of lead or hours of molten gold;
Unenlightened yet by unknown sorrow.
Sands rush through the hourglass of wasted years,
While breaking our young hearts with shattered dreams.
The clock of life wrings disappointed tears,
Unhampered by our plans and clever schemes.
Beware grim reaper swinging ***** blade
Who mocks thee as childhood days slowly fade.

**~Hilda~

first love, a blue coyote-
- first heart, a red red moon

first day's not dawned-
love sings a song
a'top a desert dune

genesis of loneliness-
indigenous to wistfulness
- first cry of love
against the first night sky

blue coyote sings
to a red red moon.

r ~ 10/3/14

My body is the
temple where both love and hate
reside in turmoil.

the house next door makes me
sad.
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
work.
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are
out.

the house next door makes me
sad.
the people are nice people, I
like them.

but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.

they are surviving.
they are not
homeless.

but the price is
terrible.

sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
me
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.

Ancient wounds ~ Comet wishes


Bleeding from these ancient wounds
Falling to the earth below
Mud red, blood red, softening the ground
My footprints ache in format patterns

So long the wounds, of age defined,
Dripping masses in the mist
Marked for life, while a beating heart
pumps eternal fluid fears

Watching as the puddles grow,
round at first and then obscure
Fading faster than the sun
on its westward trek of daylight shadows

Weak…I find my eyes they stare
off into the crowning moon
Beams of effervescent glow
shroud me in unknown pleasures

Rising above the crusted mounds
Light as any whispered breeze
Words now call in sweet caress
Melodies of past preferred ring

Lyrics sung to me and me alone
A language that my soul does speak
Piano keys in blended black and white
string together lasting impressions

Symphonies of a healing concerto
press upon my quivered skin
Scars now dance at the revival
and still my feet don’t find the floor

My hand is touched, fingers moved
Warmth embraces this awkward grip
as peace flows, smooth, soft, subtle
through my veins

The bleeding has ceased
Disappeared among comet wishes
and my heart, once silent, now sings
in harmony with her voice…and I dream

all these years
of digging square holes
and i still don't know
why we stopped building
round houses

a mindset
is a terrible thing to change

square houses, graves
and hospital corners
are harder to maintain

circular places
make an impact
less direct
and more peaceful

an earth lodge
on the knife river
can teach us
to feel at home

we lose sight
of small things forgotten.

r ~ 9/11/14