If you really love someone,
You can let them go.

Lupine casts the shadows
Tattooed on the skins of
Twining lovers.
Their pale ******
Intensifies the purple and violet
Splashes dotted on the soft green rugs.
The two lovers roll
Atop and under,
Aside and over,
Their sweet sweat distracts the bees from
Their honey foray.
Bees buzz
Lovers sigh
Perfection in its abundance.

Mistakes, one then another,
And again and again.
Each and all textured the same,
And for so long
Unable to be tame.
This encore of pain,
Salt on the open wounds,
All due to that everlasting, consuming fear
Of living the truth.
This encore of mistakes,
Crawling,
Gnawing.

Lamenting tune of the lute...
Carried through the world, upon the back of the ever-dancing wind...
Bringing to soaking-tears the eyes of those who hear,
and a numb feeling of hollow being.

Strong pondering thud of the drum...
Vibrating echoes of awareness into the deep soil...
Causing tree roots to tremble with warning,
Animals to hide themselves in their burrow holes.

Shy, quiet notes of the piano...
Each key surfacing waves of blushing beams...
Caressing the near-by sea salt waters,
Filling the mystique vast ocean with melodious company.

Within the enclosed
Walls of the
Windowless cell
Huddled in the corner
A man sits motionless

The coldness of the
Damp brick walls
Around him
Creep through his
Sweaty skin
Clogging the pores
Causing a fever

No window
Breaks the brick walls
Of the dwarf sized cell
No light
Just darkness
Ensnare the space
Around the cross-legged man

He feels his eyes
Will soon go blind
From the choked
Layer upon thick layer
Of blackness

He feels his skin
Will solidify
Into a frozen fever
Of cold
All the blood and veins
Beneath
Slowly turning to crusts of nothing

These are terrible

Terrible as the jingle of
The key’s click
Meaning the door is locked
Not to be opened
Until his executioner
Decides is right

Terrible as the moment
He caught his last
Glimpse of the sun’s beams
Gifting the outside world with
Simple happiness

But neither of these
Could amount to
The horrifying
Sound of a single
Clock’s steady
Ticking
Ticking
Ticking away the minutes
And hours remaining of his life

The man sits
Sits and sits
Never moving
His ears are continuously
Invaded with this
Ticking
Ticking
Ticking
How will he survive?

What seem
To be weeks pass
And he sits
In that same corner
Motionless
On the edge of madness

Ticking
After
Ticking
Pass
And soon
He understands
To fall in love
With this sound
Is the key

He listens now
And soon
In place of the
Ticking
The man in the
Windowless cell
Hears music

Soon an orchestra
Of deep fathomless cello
Smooth whispering piano
Melancholy violin
Echoes throughout the
Tunnels of this man’s ears

Now
With music his companion
This man
Cross-legged in the corner
Of the windowless cell
Smiles to the
Music
Through his sorrows

My arms I wrap
Around my knees
And rest my chin
Atop them
The hood of my cotton coat
Keeps my braided hair dry
While it soaks up the
Cloud’s tears

A patch of African violets
Grow before my feet
Their small patch
Gowned with dew
The intense purple of the violet
It is deep
Grounding
And proud
It does not resemble a shy flower
Such as the sun daises that
Close their petals at night
Its color voice
Speaks outgoing adventure
And seeking mystery

The irises of my green eyes
Seem to make contact
With each violet’s center
Its face

My eye’s irises
The violets hidden eyes
We both count
Count the silent tick of the dark night
Swallowing all the shadows of tree and stone

Night’s clock ticking
So many branches
The patient drip drip sound
Of dew from the tips of the green
The torn departure of frost
Bitten leaves from their branch strongholds
The silent cackling of the demon’s moon
The slow formation
Of the stars overhead
Moving together to form their ancient constellations

All these things
Among a thousand others
Some unseen
Some unspoken
Some not yet known
Form nature’s circular
Clock of time nonexistent

Retrospect reoccuring,
Endless thoughts back tracking
Into what could have been,
What would have been,
If different foot steps were taken,
Another path chosen,
Other words spoken.

Years and years now,
I lived in the past,
Keeping past hardships and mistakes
Just one step away.


What a fool was I,
to make the past my future.

Now is what matters,
The now brings truth,
The now brings joy,
The now brings change.

I sit in the now,
Absord the now,
Give thanks to the now,
And I flourish.

The ocean between our bodies
Is deep enough for crystalline echoes,
Though hollow as a sea-thinned lace murex.
Your eyes speak it,
Mine feel the same.
I will happily swim this ocean for you.

The complications of our relationship had reached their complicated peek
Giving way to an avalanche of confused thoughts and imaginary voices.
We both loved one another, and still do.  

The needle that tore my heart open
Became the needle that threaded it back together.
We both overcame the complications and confusion,
He and I.
Our hearts were whole again,
Beating like water-skin drums in unison,
Never going off tune.

I didn't write a poem of reunion or of the happy joy of being together again...
I don't know why.
Now I wish I had.
If I had, maybe this new seed of doubt that is sprouting wouldn't be.

I don't yet know if an end will come or if all will stay intact.
But I do know, that whichever way it goes,
He promised to take me to the river for my birthday.
And that makes me happy.

Falling stars,
Descending momentom.
Nebulas of unspoken secrets,
Past and future bended
Into one smile.

High-pitched sky songs
Pluck storms from their deepest
Heart of hearts
The thunders slap unto the cheeks
Of hill crests
Echo screams

The veins of mountains tremble
Final shivers shatter openings
Through the curved rock hips
Gushing waters that cry for release

Storm tongues strike root-deep
Oaks
And from ablaze flames
Release their lustful moans

Drowning tons of moist earth
Collapse over cliff walls and
In crashing descent bury some
Frightened fractals of life

The whole atmosphere is an orchestra
Of echoing screams and vibrational screeches
Releasing onto the tactual earth changes
That will remain
And form anew

Perpetual youth and old wisdom thrive
As the pure first breath
Of a child just born

Nature
An intricate web of
Perpetual youth and old wisdom

On piano bench ivory sit I
Carved stone keys beneath my fingers
Fall and die
Savory sounds to my ears rise and fall
With them seep speechless calls
Accompanied by peppered cries
Inside me touched desires sigh

In slow motion fall
My finger-tips connect
With carved stone keys
Yawning out low pitched
High screeched
Sounds
In contrast
My thoughts shallow and lone

I drown deep up
Shallow down
In the
Percussions of piano keys
Each of which tease
The buzzing bees
In these empty seas

Drown deep up
Shallow down

Shallow down
Drown deep up

Wake up
Wake up

Leave me here,
By and by the misty oaks,
Those boast and cower through seasons.

Leave me here,
By and by the sun-touched,
Pebbled paths that led many pairs of feet.
For here my eyes do spy those
Ivory petaled bells of flowers.

Leave me here,
By and by,
Where I will pick these flowers,
And furnish my day with scented simplicity.

Three hours I’ve got
Till I need to place three more quarters in the slot,
Preventing a ticket from making a print on my windshield.
Walk fast, speedy gal.
The rain is making a damp home of your hair.
Pit pat pit pat pit pit patter.
The flats that hug my feet make tiny foot prints of sound on the city side walk.
The invisible prints, with the splash and swoosh of water waves from passing cars
Makes all other sound miniscule to my ears.
I push the swinging door open
And step from chill winter air into warm chit chat filled space.
The smell of damp clothes and freshly ground espresso fills my nostrils.
My eyes welcome the sight of relaxed people and the rustic interior of the bakery, brewery, and restaurant.
Time to get cozy on my favorite bench, with a cappuccino in my hands, a book in front of me on the table, and my bubble of comfort around me.

Down in the valley below,
There grow three cedar trees,
One on the right, one on the left,
And one in the center.
Their leaves are evergreen
And their trunks are strong and lean.
Their roots are deep
And their lives are long.
These cedars look up at the sky,
Day and night,
Watching the clouds and stars.
They breathe deeply and sing sweetly.
These three cedar trees,
These three earth sisters,
Keep on growing, reaching up towards the sky.

*One of three poems I wrote for my friend's granddaughters

Living reality is difficult,
Fantasies are what keep you smiling.
In the chamber of my mind,
Forever seems absolutely possible.
But what is this holding onto forever?
Even though each moment with you I spend as if it’s the last,
And think of no other space or time,
Later on I say ‘I want to be with you forever.’
These words will only bring the end closer.
Not closer in a sense that the end will come faster,
Though this can also be true,
But when it does come it is the biggest blow to the heart
I have known.
The hypocrite part of me is showing now,
For even as I write this truth of love,  
I can’t let go of you…

That day at the river was the most beautiful.
There was a balance in the air that day;
everything was perfect.
We both smiled and laughed.
We fed each other forkfuls of lemon cheesecake.
We embraced and kissed.

Everything was vibrant that day and seemed to be glowing.
The water.
The rocks.
The trees and bushes.
The sky.
The few white clouds.

That day will always remain in my memory
As the most beautiful birthday I have ever had.

The gush of water over rounded rocks
Elevate to echoes,
Echoes that echo in the space between
Tree and stone.
The sun rays are even and smooth
Wherever you turn.
Go round and round in a full circle,
It’s all even,
Except just before you return to where you started,
In that one split second and space of air.
The evened light from the sun
Will be molded differently here,
It will form tall slender shadows
That fall over the giant rocks.
In the shadows you can see
Two lovers, both ****,
Both having reached complete happiness.
Both their arms are around one another,
Holding the other’s shoulders and back like a conch.
The tops of their heads are crowned with
Fern circlets,
The green of which makes their skin look pale
And the hair on their head look light.
In this embrace, within the echoes between tree and stone,
These two lovers hold their ceremony,
One that belongs solely to them,
A secret from the world outside nature.
The sun rays bind them
And the echoes between tree and stone set them free.
Here they hold their ceremony,
With the fern crowns on their heads
And love within their beating hearts.

Like rosemary twigs, and lavender leaves,
The loss that tore my heart open today,
Chews at my body and mind.
In my stomach I feel an aching from the emptiness therein.
Excitement is low, and I can’t hear the beating of my heart.
That ***** seems so quiet and careful,
That I wonder if it’s my heart keeping me alive
Or just some force of the universe or my will.
At times my mind seems like rice paper,
An empty sheet of white with no words written on to tell a story.
At others, my thoughts drift backwards in time,
Wishing that all the moments before would still be alive for later.

I always thought mouths were for kissing, smiling, and laughing.
Isn’t that a beautiful fiction?
But it is not a hundred miles close to the truth.
Yes, mouths do kiss, and smile, and evoke laughter,
But the movements of the lips are also quick,
Like the strike of a snake.
These mouths spread talk and venomous gossip,
One to another,
Like an apocalyptic plague that brings to all fever and vomiting.

Wouldn't the world be as perfect as an ivory-bell-flower?
If there was no heart break, gossip, or endings.  

Here I sit now,
Sitting on my knees with my hands resting on my legs,
And my back arched forward,
Like a monk in meditation.
The rosemary and lavender is growing all over me,
Transforming my body into a scented orb of green.

The tea is steeping.
The fire is dancing.
Here I am sitting,
With a book in my hands.

Outside the wind is blowing,
Cold and dry
Like the breath of a night lizard of the desert.

The biting winds promise for rain,
But the shallow blue skies will not yield to the call
For liquid storms.
So here we all are,
In-between what seems summer and
What seems to resemble the autumn season.
The leaves all round are shifting to warm colors,
Yet much of the vegetation remains lush and green.

This season is one undecided and uncertain,
Like,
I now note,
Many of the realities occurring.
Change and uncertainty is tasted by so many at once,
Just like all of nature round us.
Undecided uncertainty.
What confusion and mystery is life?

Sensual ripples,
Deeming sole existence,
Within embracing arms.

Eyes meet,
A gaze that says all,
Vocal words insignificant.

Lips reconvene,
Nebulas of love,
Amends made for lack
Of past recognition.

The thumb and ******* of my left hand pinched the neck of a sandglass. The sand leaving the top bulb was almost translucent, and although the glass of the miniature instrument was thick for its size, I could almost feel the friction of each grain as they slide down. As the sand formed a growing pile at the base of the bottom bulb, my ears became numb, and began to ache. My ears felt like the inside of a cathedral, the walls of which were collapsing. I look down to my right hand and see I am holding a shovel. Why do I need a shovel? I thought to myself. Then I felt my knees give way to the heaviness that surrounded them. I was sinking in sand, a giant ocean of sand. This game I had never played before now, but I somehow knew the rules. Drop the sandglass in my left hand and whatever force held this ocean around me in place would fall and shatter. Drop the shovel and I’d have no way to dig myself out.  
How does this dream end?

Black eyelids of the night,
Sing their inward sleepy song,
To the ocean of silence far below,
Whose wavelets of dreams are a medicine to the past days wounds.

Nights brow is doted with dew,
Dew whose origin,
Same to that of crystal caves bright blue and purple lights,
Is a perfect reflection of the Earth's simplicity.

Starving in our sleep
We weep we weep
Weep away the
Starvation we have in sleep
Deep down lacking
Fumes of nothing
Seep their sorrows
Into treacherous hollows
Fumes of nothing
Carving burrow holes
River bed stones
Raging rapid waters
Wash away the sorrows
Wash away starvation and weeping
We weep we weep
Lacking nothing
We weep we weep
Lacking everything

In a field of green and gold,
Mother and daughter arm in arm,
Happiness and love glistening eyes,
Purple flower held against sun touched skin,
Smiles ready for the camera’s focus.

Daughter walking calmly,
In a field of green and gold,
Then reeled back by her mother’s arms,
Both bursting into high pitched laughter,
Into an embrace meant for the camera’s shot,
So for future memories are made.

The diaphragm of the camera,
Adjusting passing light through the lens,
Each wave divided in time,
Reflecting perfection.

Swish swash

Swish swash

Stare down into the

Soapy swirl

Of artificial detergent and bleach

A good place and space for lone thought

Contemplation

Swish swash

Swish swash

Soapy molecular

Foamy activity

Your clothes are being washed

For you to wear again

Why not wash through your head?

Wash away

The muck and yuck that sticks to your brain

Swish swash

Swish swash

It really helps, try it

Swish swash

Swish swash

Her head bent
Like reeds blown in a storm.
The veins of her throat pulse
Hot blood pumping
Up and out her gaping mouth.

Her damp locks veil her face
From the flames in consume
Surrounding the grove where she sits.
Those which had once been her eyes
Now blackened by burning soot
Pay her no more ability of sight

In the dark clutches of night
Where flames and embers
The world’s lantern
Tempest clouds
Let loose salty tears.

In this hollow space
Between the wind’s gusts and fires crusts
She sings what her voice
Holds left:

*Hail the silence of the burned trees
Hail the curses of the world’s ceaseless moans
Hail the blindness of the flaming bees
Hail the round-topped sheltered domes
This grove doth bestow
Hey-** hey-**
What doth bestow
Is apt to know
Hey-** hey-**
Hark the withering leaves
Of Autumn’s first winds
Hark the blooming ashes
Autumn’s second tale begins

Jeans rolled past my knees
Sleeves cut short to a v
Hair tied with elastic rubber band.
Already from shifting position
Three splinters and one rusty needle have pricked my soles.
Here on the bleachers at Pioneer Park,
That's what you become.
A splinter of wood amidst a haystack of action.
There's that group of thirty plus playing frisbee on the grassy flats, and
That group of acro yogi's you were supposed to join.
I'd rather sit here on these prickly bleachers and
Be a splinter of wood, with the sun shining and the cloudy sky drizzling,
Then go down below and be a social butterfly.
I've been that all day, now all I need is to get rained on, feel the wet,
Be a splinter of wood on the bleachers.

The forest was flush with light;
The dew upon every leaf and bush shined like emerald tears
Fallen from the rhinestone sky above.
Hues and blushes of reflection went vibrant without limit;
All the things our eyes beheld forced us to soon shut them,
Or else the ability of sight would be no more.
The songs of fire-bellied sparrows and yawning owls that hid in tree-hollows
Echoed through the tunnels of our ears,
Into our pumping brain,
And then were sent down our spines in reaction.
We slipped off our shoes
And our bare feet sunk deep into the wet mud and moss that still held the chill licks from night’s tongues.
The layered breezes through the branches
Tumbled over our pale skins and whispered into the hallow spaces of our ears.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Every swish of forest damp air drained the moist saliva off our tongues
And carried it away through the windows between trees,
Far, far away…
Far away so we would never find the words we wished to say.
The splendor of the sunshine through the emerald trees
Upon our bare arms and legs gave us new breath to live,
New eyes to see,
New tears to shed,
New nostrils to smell…
The secret tide of all natural things flowed here;
In this place
Where our feet were bare,
Where our eyes were shut,
Where the words we wished to say were taken far, far away,
Through the windows between trees.

Mock-orange flowers
With stem and leaf
Of jade, moss green
Spring to life
Through cracks in stone
Silver and white
With Strawberry Fall's water
Filling its thirst.
Creeks of white foam flowing
Down steep falls and flat stones
The Earth's ****** curves
Sun-catching heat waves
Making the surface hot
Enough that would dry the skin fast.

Sun bleeding,
Sun weeping,
Sun's deep red life source seeping,
Sun bleeding,
Sun weeping,
Sun's warm smile forever sleeping.

Gold that falls,
Splashes of the sun,
Tear light-paths through thin air.

Sun stained eyes
Salt textured skin
Mouth breathes in the ocean air
Nose tastes the sea-gulls shrieks
He seeks
Ocean speaks
One gives
The other takes
And both make
A balanced happiness

Sea-gull's wings glide
Mirrored by the ocean's tides
Through the folds of wind
That causes ripples and constant change
Here, there, and everywhere

Salt liquid waves
Blue stained waters
Always moving
Always changing face
Detaching shells from the sand floor
And deforming the crusted and colorful reefs

The last creature of the world,
Seeing the land through peaceful eyes,
Did the one thing it always wanted to do;
It swallowed the sun.

Mirrored halls
Each side I turn
I look back at myself

Marble floors
Each step I take
My feet send echoes through the stone

Cold air
Each breath I breathe
Throat moister transforms transparent

This temple of withdrawal
Harbors angels and demons
Angels and demons
Each one
Given space to ponder

You heard of that drug?
That drug they call Love.
Na it ain't a pill or liquid on paper.
Na it ain't a shroom or leaf.
Na na na.
It ain't something you consume.
It consumes you.
No one knows how it happens,
All that anyone can agree on is
You ain't got control of it.
It just happens.

~~~~~~

Ya.
You know what drug I'm talking about.
Well man...
I'm pretty sure its consumed me.

Sand dust paper memory,
Magnet promises that loose
Their stickiness.
Eyes so deep and empty
Like lonely water wells.
This is the man that holds
An umbrella over his head,
Even if it's not raining,
And just stands and stares
Out over the horizon sea.

Tree’s ravaged roots
By axes a thousand
Spilling the blood of forest barks and mosses
The trunk’s weeping screams
Enough to deafen the nearest fowl

Each branch sheds tears
Of liquefied organs and veins
That once hitting the ground
Flow in rushing meanders
Enough to drown soil housed insects

Every leaf that was born
Green and luscious under the sun’s beams
Now recoil and shiver
Into a rusted deathly brown
All the breath that once recycled
Back through its green body
Chased into a withered chasm

One by one
The axe takes a thousand lives in one
One by one
The world that nurtured humanity
Decays by humanity’s hands
One by one
The ruin of all
Will occur
By the axe
Of humanity

Darkness creeps over the waters
Of the Blind Rivers,
Making so that even the crane’s white silhouette
May not be seen catching fish in the shallows.
The breezes that belong to the sunset hour
Caress the blackened waters that are blind
And so cause silent waves.

A man sits,
Keeping company to
The crane,
And listens to the Truth behind
This landscape’s façade of uninterrupted quiet.

In the breezes,
He hears the last screams of those thousands  
Drowned in those waters.
He hears all the unspoken words
That should have been said.
He hears throat held silence
That the frightened hid behind.

In the darkness
He sees the contours of
Dreams never lived,
Cobble cities never built,
Books never written.
He sees the expressionless faces of many,
Whose eyes are gray and frightened
Whose mouths tremble to utter words
Whose skin is pale as canvas.

In the space surrounding the Blind Rivers,
Among the breezes that harbor screams,
Amidst the darkness that holds the unseen,
Alongside the white silhouette of the crane,
Sits a man,
Tired of the lies that construct this world,
At peace with solely himself,
And in solitude,
Sits as the sentry of Truth.

I am now sitting cross-legged on the grass,
And it starts to rain.
Slowly my dry hair is heavy with water
And my clothes are soaked through.
My cell-phone is in my pocket,
And I know that soon the water will reach it's center battery
And it will die.

This knowledge doesn't bother me, but even now,
I hope that the last of the tiny phone's electric breathe
Will let out a vibration, telling me I have received a message,
And I keep hoping it is from him.

....

Each time we conversed of an end
I was so quick to tell him that love was the strongest and not to worry.
I wasn't thinking of what was best for him, or me,
I was only thinking of what I wanted.

I hear many people say I am mature for my age.
I am mature in somethings.
But not everything.

....

Recently my mother told me,
"Sometimes we need a big shock to open our eyes, to help us move our feet forward."

I understand that now.

He always said he knew what would be best for me,
And whenever he did I would be get angry and tell him that no one knew.
I wouldn't listen to what he said.
I would fight it before all the words were formed,
Because I didn't want to let go.
I didn't want to wait for a future that might have us in it,
I wanted that future to be now.  

All the advise he gave me was for our own good.
By fighting and fighting it I brought an ugly end to our friendship.

This has been the biggest lesson of my life,
And though it is hard, this is how things go.
We make mistakes, many times repeat them, and then we have to face them.

I am looking into the window of my room,
Where on the sill there stands his painting.
I am the white and pink flower.
He is the golden and black bee.
He has wings, and he must use them to fly.
I have a stem, and for a little while longer I must grow taller.
One day I will break apart into little seedlings and the wind will carry me through the air,
And then, then is when I may fly beside him.

I lay my head in your lap.
You stroked my hair with a gentle hand,
And searched my face with your eyes
And lightened my heart with a smile.
That was the most perfect moment
In a long while.
My heart is yours,
I love you,
My heart is yours.
I wanted to say these things,
But I didn't.
The silence was what held that moment together.
My heart is yours
And I do love you.
You know this already.

Ivory white is the ground
That the snow foxes walk
Forever it has tasted cold
And only under the sun
Has it ever known a warm blush

The moon tries with all
His silver light to bestow
A blush to the snow’s cheeks
He refuses to understand
That he provides no warmth
He fights and fights
The truth that the sun
Is the only one that makes the snows melt

He chases his love in vain
Day in and night out
In a never ending circle
Around the earth

He cries his desires in the
Lightening that makes fires
He battles his emotions through
The changing tides of oceans

Try as he may
And fight as he does
The snows do not bow to his love
Only continue to melt
When the hot sun
Gazes upon her pale body

The liquid maiden that circled
The full amber moon
Let fall waves of song.

The golden bodied hawk
Flew in round about paths
Under the amber glow.

The white pony
That lay under a dry, cold touched tree,
With innocence and serenity painted in her eyes,
Took song and flying shadow into her dreams.

I feel we connect, you know?
We like to observe things,
We like to create things,
You like painting,
I like building things.
I think we have a connection,
You know?

Pretty words.
In that moment they shone so bright,
As if they were covered in morning dew.
What a fool was I?
To fall for such sweet talk,
As I had done so many times before.
How long does it take to learn something?

I think I’m in love.
I thought then.
I think I was made a fool.
I know that now.
It hurt then,
It always does at first.

I’ve learned a lot since,
I’ve learned that thinking won’t get you anywhere,
Except in a nowhere void where darkness ***** your blood like mosquitoes.

Knowing is the best way to go,
The only way to go rather,
If you really do want to get anywhere.
With friendship least you know.
With friendship you don’t ever think
I think.
All you think is
I know.*

A beautiful feeling it is.

My feet are bare
Slow like a mute’s speech
They turn purple and gray
Soon they are frozen
To the ice surface
They stand on
Icicles upward grow
The toe nails crack
The veins below skin
Turn black

A blizzard blows
I cannot move
My arms and legs collect
The snow
My fingers split from cold
From which red liquid drips
And in falling descent
Freezes into
Down facing pillars

As the cold
Chokes upward my throat
Vocal and lungs freeze
And from high pressure
Shatter into shards of glass
I want to scream
But I cannot open my mouth
I bite my tongue
My lips are now solid shut
Slowly burning
Burning

Green eyes
Transform glassy mirrors
Reflecting the approaching moon

Naked am I
Naked of all
Sight
Smell
Hearing

Below my frozen feet cracks the ice
And in the freezing waters
This statue that I now am
Drowns
Into the darkness

Below the river’s mirrored surface
Sun-catchers collect the eyes of fish
And in reflecting rainbows
Cast shadows through the currents.  

The slippers of dimpled stones
Tip-toe down-river-bottom
The same direction that the
Weeds blow.

Naked bodies that gleam blushes
Connect with the hot rocks
And rippled movements,
Each one dives into the cold clutches of aqua
Each one leaps on the rocks to lie in the sun.

The black and blue dragonflies,
They boast their fast flight
In full circles and angled turns
And from their deep-set ebony eyes
Pierce the spaces under rocks and between leaves.

Grains of sand are thieved from the shores
By the fast fleeing waters that do not
Stay in one place long.
Those under the water
Those that listen
Hear the music that is so subtly drawn with each grain of sand
Hear the music in the reflecting sun-catchers
Hear the foot-falls of every dimpled stone
Hear the music in the movements of those naked bodies
And in the speedy flight of black and blue dragonflies.

A small pond sits quiet in a meadow,
Circling it are three majestic willows.
The long green branches reach down
And the leaves brush the water’s surface,
Creating tiny ripples that grow and spread.
It is quiet here, in this meadow.
The breeze that lifts the
Willow branches is calm,
And the animals that occupy
The little corners are at peace.
Here, in this quiet meadow,
Stand three majestic willows,
Each one casting a reflection in the water.

*Another poem of three that I wrote for my friend's granddaughters