I rose Restored And searched For words To weave Through Echoes Remembered, To represent Their shape, To make Them here And now And later, For sharing. But the words That came Bent to Things Noticed Instead And here And now I share.
I sit And breathe With the owl Song And wish For leaves In thousands, On the ends Of arms Spread, Strong And steady, And long For bits To whisper And shiver With the wind, A rustling Swell Behind owl song. And then I remember To forget Myself As I sing And rustle And breathe My way To the next Moment We are creating.
She slinks Between feet Curling one Last Bit Of tail Around Wrist Nuzzling Nose To shoulder And scampering Past When I reach To engage, To satisfy. Tempting And fleeing, On To the next. And he Is patient And slow And strong When It’s time, Waiting And ready For my return.
I gather My parts Here For practice. And, Knowing, I declare, and I ask, And suppose, There And Find It hard To hear The yearnings Of flesh And bone Now From within My constructions Of then. And then, Knowing Goes on Without Me, And I practice.
Feet planted, I sweep The world Around me With arms And wrap Them One around One, As hips Call for space And I extend And I fold And I breathe And I reach And I settle Before sweeping Back To the start, To listen For What Comes Next.
As I Ease into Pose Of a corpse I wonder At the edges We construct Between us, How real The chasm Seems When I Succumb To the urge To set Both form And beat.