She walked out of the watercolor storm of a fresco
Like a cowl-bound form in a light drizzle of rain,
Her mosaic tiles of ancient lovers’ eyes, ceramic-borne,
Just as her hips held the curves of the urn, kiln-fired,
The coiled heat of Greece still stinging through her flesh.

For her, the treetops had been the summoners of storm,
In kind, she poured down the wet grove of her hair, electral,
Pantheress of humid breath and fanged flair of lightning,
Tamed once in the cloudy cage of Pentelic marble of the Parthenon.

But the world piled dust before her, baiting with its groveled roads,
For her black mullings, much-tasted rain, and heaven’s leaves to fall.
If only the Michelango-to-come had carved the clouds of her
For the light to remain, shining its centuries,
Then maybe the thunder would have been left undone.

(For Mary Oliver)

In winter much of the living hibernates.
The dead seek out warmth.
Birds sing only in treetops, serenading
the world beyond. Let us soar to it
on the white wings of your poems.

You have said that one day we shall
live in the sky. but our consolation now
is the green earth, draped in snow.
Our footprints fade as soon as the sun burns down.
You left us in brightness. All your poems
embraced goodness, love and light.

A blanket of feathers covers your grave.
Beside them, a silver pen shines,
the instrument of grace. You wrote
more than we could absorb, more
than our mediocre minds could imagine.

You blessed us with the whiteness
of wisdom. We yearn to follow you
and the tree-top birds into the sky.
For now, we must feed on your alabaster
poetry, nature's hidden calligraphy,
spelling out our names.

Shiver cold, where has my home gone
structure isn’t made of brick or boulder
its collar bone, bathed in blue light from your phone
tip of the roof, your neck and shoulder

I shouldn’t dare, without a care is where I tend to do the most of my damage
You learn to share, and separate the pair, they send you off hoping that you can manage

Flesh and bone and heart and ache
in it in the end for what we take
optic tract symmetry
all we really want is everything

We learn what we see and we don’t say what we mean
What a world full of confusion
squeaky clean, you’ve never done a thing
Until it all comes down to the conclusion

So take it in, be sure you learn to swim
majority of us are drowning
so come inside, I’ll let you run and hide
And teach you all there is to know about me

Flesh and bone and heart and ache
in it in the end for what we take
optic tract symmetry
all we really want is everything

It’s a rare beauty
to know what you want
and have the courage to chase it.

The foundation is love,
don't you forget that