In the summer,
Hands in soil,
Bodies covered in dirt,
Running barefoot,
Camping in grass,
Rolling in mud,
Smoke in our hair,
Dust in our socks,
Tasting the Earth,
Juice dripping down chins,
Flowers in hands,
Rolling down hills,
Resting in roots.
In the fall,
Rain in our hair,
Rain in our clothes,
Rain on our skin,
Rain carries filthy rivulets
To the drain.

I have made the night mine,
no longer asking,
"May I accompany you?"
Instead, inquiring
"Would you like to accompany me?"
I have made the forests mine,
no longer requesting
"May I show you this place?"
Instead, fielding
"Will you show me this place?"
I have made the mountains mine,
no longer begging
"When shall we go?"
Instead,
Filling my calendar,
Filling my backpack,
Filling my heart
with what is mine
And going.

Simplicity is not often with me,
For I am constantly spinning myself
Into a labyrinthine web of words.
(It's a problem - the spinner in my head
Cranks out WAY too much thoughtful thread.)
But I know how pointless it is to live this short life
without openly sharing my truths,
So, full of ambition,
I endlessly aspire to keep the door open
To this messy box.
So I wade through the mess
Collecting anchoring chords,
Endeavoring to weave them
Into an elegant and refined tapestry,
Ready to be presented to you.
One that says,
"Ever see the sun as the star it is, hanging in the sky?"
"Imagine giant glaciers bowling over these plains,"
"What's stopping us from staying out all night?"
or
"Let me list all the ways you are a beacon to my spirit",
"Please tell me about everything you love,"
"I look forward to these moments with you every other moment."

But that's always, like, way too much.

I struggle to hold myself up
(to a standard, to an ideal,
of self-care, self-respect,
and protection of heart)
But this is a slide
that I have no power over.
This force that pulls me -
(yes, this very idea has gravity)
- This force is unrelenting,
gnawing, sneaky, persistent,
not intentional or malicious,
simply inevitable.
It is a slow erosion
taking a mountain out to sea
when I look,
and a great landslide
swiftly collapsing
when I turn my back.
Where once,
I hung precariously,
I was at least secured
in a temporary equilibrium.
But now
just one cord snaps
and I am swinging,
falling,
a safety net not yet woven.

Serotonin
Stepping out into the sun
(To capture and convert UVs),
The navigator leads the run
And takes the charge of "where-to-be".

Endorphins
Breathing hard, all discord numb!
A high like never felt before
Feels so much like the liquid hum
Of sharing two, or three, (or four?)

Oxytocin
Splitting sides, we barely gasp,
Dreams afire burst forth and rush,
Time and praise are gifts we clasp,
We shudder-skip when fingers brush.

Dopamine
Rewarding sights come to the tough
And forming memories is my art.
Just sharing heights is sweet enough,
But anticipation rules my heart.

Hear here:
https://soundcloud.com/nataliejcopeland/fine-rough-first-mix*

I'm fine
  I'm fine
    My heart's on fire
      But I'm fine
No ****
  No wine
    No need for that stuff
      Cause I'm fine

The words on the radio
Don't touch me like they used to
Not a single song out there
Sounds right or rings true

I'm chill
  I'm fine
    Growing colder
      On the vine
The leaves
  They turn in time
    And I'm turning too
      Cause I'm fine

I wish I could capture a sunbeam's warmth
Before the autumn days
But just like the summer in your smile
This too will fade away

I'm fine
  Not sure what I'll do but I'm fine
    This heart beats slower now
      But it's fine, oh it's fine
I'll try
  To coastline
    Try to glow up
      Til I grow up
        And I show up
          Truly fine.

Men shielded their eyes from her effulgence,
Heat rippling across the valley
Cascading into cool mists -
That was how the tempest began.
Each naive stride and stroke
Raking chain reactions through the fields,
Winds picking up speed
She began to dance.
That was when she noticed the chill.
Her arms opened wide to beckon her sisters,
The sea,
And they ran to her,
Changing her,
Lending her
Their powerful wings.
Cyclopsian, she rose above,
First drizzles, then droves, and deluge.
Shiver, shiver, shake,
Drops sprayed and furled
Across the innocent
Wreaking havoc
From moon to covered moon
Until she'd spent it all.
Heat, chill, water, light, wind,
All gone.
Spent.
To trudge up the mountain
Searching for radiance once more.

I have learned how not
To deal with fury -
From my mother,
My father,
And so on,
And so forth.
I have learned what inside
I don't want to be.
Left untamped
I would be fire.
Left unexamined,
I would own my rage.
Instead, I turn it over -
Laugh-crying at some,
Numbing at others,
Until I've far surpassed fury
And settled in even rockier
Despair.
I shake at injustices too great
And I heave my sobs
Into a furious ocean
Of everyone else's.
Better to quietly, privately drown
Than actually burn it all down
As would my mother,
My father,
And so on,
And so forth.

I was louder once.
A beast with a need to feast,
but now I tamp my rampages.
One too many times I leapt
Over and through the fire
Bounding and barreling
Obnoxiously snarling as I caught
my dreams between my jaws and ripped,
To find their warmth evaporating,
my **** growing cold and sticky
as it would dribble and dry,
sweet and cracked down my breast and forearms.
I learned to pace. To release. To settle.
Not to take too many shots, coax, tease, or purr.
Not to bite, howl, or grin.
Not to get too cozy when I stargaze, tell embarrassing drinking stories, or speak my impressing words.
Not to stand on tables,
Not to shout out of car windows,
Not to dance like the drunken Maynads.
And I am quieter for it.
More intact.
Less alive.
I miss that wild beast.
I feel her gnawing at the cracks in my skin
begging me to don the wolf coat.
And some nights,
When the moon is right
I do.
And if I'm not careful,
Fastidiously luring and caging her
with promises of "next time"
until I've re-sewn my skin
I'm afraid that she'll eclipse me,
Careening through the night
And never returning.
I along with her
Never to return.

I close my eyes
to try to make it as dark as I can
to shut out the light from the hall
from the street lamp
from my alarm.
To make it as dark as the sky
that we lay beneath.
I re-populate the darkness with the pinpricks we know so well.
Would you give me permission
to do more than imagine,
to accompany you out to the open dark
of the plains and the mountain tops,
if only to spend the hours it takes to get there,
voices alight,
learning your favorite things,
and then hours under the stars
in awestruck silence?
Excited breathing. Buzzing. Elation.
A late and innocent night
on the edge of dawn.
I open my eyes
To the headache of the hall light,
the street lamp,
my blinking alarm.

She invites me up,
And it has been so long
that it's the first time again.
Tumbling onto hot sheets,
Shirts, shorts, socks,
Everything innocent,
Everything snug,
Everything hot.
And suddenly lips,
And suddenly pulse,
And suddenly fingertips grazing
turn something inside me
turn to hands clutching and grasping,
and arching and pulling,
and the missing puzzle piece
is suddenly about to fill!
I know her -
is it...
could it be...
And she slides away.
She is me,
and she has had her fill,
But I am still hot.
I wake in sweat,
pulling layers
from my sticky flesh.
Even in my fevered dreams,
I am too much.

I wonder if you know
how often I pass
that church door where we kissed
(and kissed, and kissed)

Or how I'd desecrate
a thousand more
just to do it again
(and again, and again).

It feels now like a deal with the devil,
and too good, it lasted as long as one would.
For rapturous blasphemy, for ludicrous bliss,
I sold all my fears for just one shot at this.

I wonder if you know
that we are our own devils,
that nothing's contracted
that can't be redacted

That we spin our own fates
and can re-thread our revels -
Did you know? But you must,
(you must, you must.)

Yet I'm sure that you won't
and that all that we built
is crumbling, returning,
To dust, to dust.

We burn like meteors:
Hot, fast, and bright
Screaming through the atmosphere
Hearts afire, souls alight
Each trip
One small skip for heart,
One giant leap for meteorite.

But there are two inevitabilities:
Time, and with it, gravity.

We break apart
Losing light
We extinguish
Losing sight
But after it's over -
After you're gone
I'm still
Euphoric.
High.

Replays shooting through my mind -
I'm starting to suffocate on oxygen.

Then I desperately search
For a laugh, or a sound,
Hoping a new voyage
Soon will be found
Grasping at wind
All the way down
Just a stone in thin air
Plummeting to the ground.

The road ahead
is full of possibility,
but not for the faint of heart.

Luckily,
I am not faint of heart.

I am a champion of Longing.
Full of gratitude, yes,
but born with an irrepressible
Desire to Chase.
I am always
peering around the corner,
staying up all night,
and stoking the fire
for only the greatest of dreams
of art, adventure, and pleasure,
of science, nature, and mind.

The beginning of romance too,
is taking on the role of explorer,
setting forth into the unknown,
getting my feet wet,
and splashing forward
by drawing a map.
I am exuberant,
(sometimes forwardly so),
not because I seek to plant a flag
and claim connections as my own,
but because I seek to chart the boundaries
of hearts unknown.

I wish to delight in each waterfall,
spelunk each hidden treasure,
plot and survey each peak!
Is that not the greatest joy -
getting to know
that which finds your soul,
multiplies it,
and hands it back to you anew?

Perhaps after thorough study
One may find a home.
And yet, there is also magic
in just passing through,
an extended holiday,
a retreat when healing is needed,
a reminder of that which makes us
ourselves.

And thus,
I will love, and love, and love.
Not always thoroughly -
sometimes in small explosions,
sometimes not as much where I'd like,
sometimes too much where I'm not needed -
But still I will.
Still I will create, do, inspire,
wonder, and love as much as possible,
Knowing that which does not nurture Longing
is temporary.

Oh Summer,
Would that you would make me your bride,
For l'll come back to you endlessly,
Body and soul
Brimming to full
With the deepest parts of me
Both at peace and at play,
Consistently
Sun-kissed,
Wind-blown,
Soaked in halcyon brightness
To the bone,
This divine passion
Never fully served
By memory alone.
Oh Summer,
My truest love,
Would that with you I could stay,
For I hold you in heart year-long,
And pine all the while you're away.

If I'm being honest,
I press my lips to the glass
To follow you down.
I am a message in an opened bottle
But I keep pace
With your sips
Hoping our loose lips
Might, together, launch ships.

If I'm being honest,
I sip the nectar of intoxication
To make excuses.
I am sure of my sober thoughts
But I know
Under night's tender spell
Is where we might tell
All truth before morning's knell.

If I'm being honest,
I'm already one ahead
To calm my racing heart.
I have rehearsed this conversation alone
Hoping to finally break
Past the short ending
Through the faltering and shaking
To say the things we are longing.

If we're being honest,
We're getting toasted
Just to loiter.
We keep turning the hourglass over
Buying more time
With water in bars,
Playlists in parked cars,
And chilly walks under the stars.

I stand on the precipice -
Feverish yet clear,
Shaking, consumed, saturated -
Overlooking the valley of the year ahead
Stretched out below.
I must somehow chart a course
Using only these distant glances from aloft
Which shall be revised again and again
As I forge my path.
But in this moment,
On this mountain,
All is still.
There are no words.
Only a pure tone
Ringing forth from my heart.
It is the quiet breath before.
Before questions.
Before answers.
Only this breath suffused with light.
Only truly being.
This state of awe.
This heaven.

I stand with the Shepherds of Wonder.
The leaders of spirits, hearts, and minds
To places within and without.
Those who can wrangle the wandering cries
into joyous song.
Those who can speak their minds
defending justice in word and deed.
Those wily leaders of sultry passion
who dance the pleasures of flesh.
Those whole-hearted carousers
who invite raucous laughter to exhaustion.
Those who know that truth,
however fragmented,
speaks through passion.
That reality,
however subjective,
is anchored to our place in all this.
Those who know that fear is the arrow
pointing us where we must go.
I stand among them,
Gathering the Pause,
Eyeing and toeing the cliff's edge.

Then suddenly
The swell
The stirring excitement
The revving
The sudden skip in heartbeat
in anticipation of
All future Loves, Losses, Silences, and Laughter.
The sudden idyllic nostalgia for all future cycles
Yet to pass into life
And out of time so quickly -
Future stories yet to be told
And soon to pass from all memory.
The suspense of the unknowable
In a race against mortality
Draws me nearer the edge.

I draw a breath on the outcrop.
Once again,
Like the Shepherds of Wonder before me
I find the spark to journey on
In the calm
Before the leap.

Time burns steadily on -
Sage, cedar, sandalwood.
A resource infinite,
But not nearly so,
when all beginnings
must have endings,
and we are each allotted
but one bundle to burn through.
How long have we been here?
Two notches on the incense clock.
Smoke rising and swirling,
evocative divinations
of all things,
future and past.

When I see the tension creep into your shoulders
As you hunch over your keyboard,
A spring coiling, about to explode -
When I hear the expletives crashing on walls
From outside my door -
When I can no longer breathe
The caustic, charged air -
I have two choices:
(I will not - can not fight)
I can freeze,
Make myself small,
Become the doe
With eyes locked straightforward,
Glassy, removed...
Or
I can grab the headphones,
Change into running shoes,
Caress my lithe curves,
And feed my body to the sky,
As I fly.
When you refuse to take care of yourself -
I must be my own protector,
And this fierce goddess
Is beholden to no one.

Nothing fancy
Just little stuff.
Using our real voices
Not the shallow mockery
To sing in the car.
Confessing our crushes
Honestly and gleefully
Dreaming and scheming.
Shoving our cold feet
Under each others' warm butts
With ice cream and SNL.
Nobody's perfect
(Least of all us)
But we certainly have our moments.

Head turns
Eyes gleam
Brows raise
Lips press
Mouth curls
Head shakes
Eyes roll
Meeting yours
With a mischievous grin
And a glance too long
That seeks to meet,
No, submerge itself in,
And possibly dive the depths of
Yours.
My perpetual smirk,
My curious simper,
My amused beaming,
Must all seem customary now,
But in truth,
the eyes I give you
Are seen by very few.

Gotta get out
Get away
Run away
"I'm running out..."
Running out of time
Out of patience
Get me out!
Out of here
Hear the blood
Blood rushing in ears
Ears full of volume
Volume in decibels
Decibels drown out thoughts
I'm drowning in thoughts
Thoughts that chain
Changes in motion
Emotional changes
Change of pace
Change of scenery
Change of heart
Gotta get out
Take me out

Sweltering delirium
I want to unwrap my skin
This fervor consumes me.
On the prow of this boat
I gaze into the terminator
Dividing open air and rain.
A stoked frenzy
I want to flush this flush
In numbing chill.
A temporary calm in me
As the temperature drops
But this fever has less chance of breaking
Than the clouds.

The first mist you meet
You'll meet the guardians of the river,
The second mist you meet
You'll meet the clouds from oceans far,
The third mist you meet
Be prepared to meet your maker
For the final mist may send you
Back to river, or to star.

The photo you took
and then gave to me
still hangs framed
above the altar,
next to the calendar.
Should I have taken it down
when your words slipped away?
Perhaps.
But it hangs as a reminder
to hope
for Lovely, Wonderful,
Improbable things.

Bitter anger and confusion
like vinegar
won't stop love from flowing.
They are both liquid
coursing together
through the great channels
carved by passion.
When dammed,
these too overflow.
I must, somehow, create culverts
and new places to go.

We don't have to walk far
Under the cover of canopy
To find exposure.
Once outside the city,
Outside the usual framework,
Outside the boundaries of polite necessity,
We can truly breathe.
On the trail
I bathe in dust
And my hands converse with trees
When asking for support.
Nursing logs remind us
Where we stand
In an ancient cycle,
And we can confess anything.
Stripped down to our bare humanity.
It's the intimacy
I used to chase in pillow-talk,
But without the dance.
The trail is always a soul's journey,
Whether solo or shared.

I have let my inbox fill,
Let my hair grow long,
And moved the cup that collected my life
That constantly ranneth over
Spilling drops to the ground
To the side temporarily
So a deeper vessel could be found.
But I'm not worried -
I'll be around.

We want to tear in -
To taste all the juices
Knowing that now,
All too soon, we could lose this.
We want to drink
All the things in this world
And never
Stop to breathe.
For the wheel
Takes and it gives
Some things will die
While others still live
When the day
Gives way to new day
We're afraid what we love
Might all fall away.
Still, the world demands
That we must let go
And let the deep rivers
In motion all flow
Dropping our leaves
Going back to our roots
Re-evaluating
What we know to be true.
Stop to breathe.
Before the next bite,
Stop to breathe.

We could have jumped
directly off the cliff
but instead,
we're paragliding.

These winds of change
are terrifying, tough, and turbulent.
Still, our stomachs are in knots.
Still, we wonder where we'll land.
Still, we will coast,
eventually
to the bottom.

And maybe I won't be scared
of heights,
falling,
or the ground
by the time it's over.

The birds residing in my heart
Did beat their wings with such force
There was nothing but the beating
So many beats all out of sync
Throbbing. Thumping. Racing.
Finally, I opened my mouth
And one by one they each did fly out
and soar
and my heart grew lighter.
After many hours,
one by one they returned to roost,
folded their wings, and tired,
tucked back into my heart.
A mass of gently moving feathered bodies
Whirring with a soft, electric hum.

Dear Ghost,

Would it be easier for you
if I ignored you,
blocked you, hid you,
and came back later
after an 'appropriate' amount of time?
Or is it easier if I stay,
patient and persistent,
occasionally dropping my two-cent
invitations, heart, and laughter,
gently
(repeatedly)
reminding you
that in spite of everything
I still give a ****?

I ask
because I do not know,
just as I can not ascertain
whether to hope or to mourn.
I hypothesize that neither
will improve this situation,
but I agonize over which
might make it worse.
Your input on the matter
would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,
Lost in Limbo.

If it all ends in the summertime
I should like to lay under a massive tree.
I will be surrounded by love and music,
And slip away,
My final moments spent in warmth.
My favorite.
If it all ends in the fall
I should like to see Orion one last time.
I will be surrounded by smells and festivity,
And travel through the veil,
My final moments growing shorter,
Like the days.
If it all ends in the winter
I should like the mountains to take me.
I will be surrounded by shadows and myths,
And face the whipping, inevitable cold,
My final moments a reflection on all the springs I saw.
Perfect poetry.
If it all ends in the spring,
I should count myself lucky.
I will be surrounded by flowers and rabbits,
And I will rest easy,
My final moments spent in light,
Remembering. Passing. Cycling.
On to life anew.

A string plucked:
Soft, supple, pliant, auriferous,
Full-bodied.
Vibrations traveling in determined waves
Fill the chambers
Joyfully cascading down walls,
Ringing down halls,
The symphony crescendos and falls.
A string brushed:
Gasps, sings, tender, melodious,
Wanton.
Whispers traveling in hopeful skips
Dance on air
Lasciviously over-pleased
To be teased
And so subtly eased.
The string un-plucked:
Grows cold
Anticipates
Grows rusty
Wants for just one touch
Grows restless
Sits in silence
Oppressive silence
Until it snaps.

The year gets later,
The air grows colder,
The pack gets heavier,
The trails grow longer,
The hours get earlier,
The elevation gets higher,
The minutes pass faster,
The friendships grow powerful.
My heart grows stronger
With each summit.

Above all
I thank the stars
For the gift of wayfinding.

Above it all
I gaze higher still
Or to the sunlit valleys below
To find my way.

The gift of terrifying awe as Orion's belt peers through the trees, bringing South.
The gift of sure confidence as I point the Dippers out to others, bringing North.
The gift of guesswork as we discover behind which peak the sun will rise, bringing East.
The gift of inevitable hush that descends along with her, bringing West.

The gift of heavy elements
Composing all
And my body
And these eyes
That were also made for
Reading maps,
Reading signs,
Reading animal sigils.

Above all
I thank the stars
For teaching me
To be less blind
And to find My Self
In the world.

Disbelief -
I am
Not a "thing"
I am just interactions -
Stories.

Break the stale night -
You twinkle in and out of my life
Tasting like San Francisco.

I recognize loneliness
in myself
as an indicator light:
something is in need of change.

By myself,
it means that I have things to learn,
and more time alone
is the only way to tease them out.
I am never lonely too long
by myself.

With others,
it is so much harder to diagnose.
It is deeper, darker, and lonelier
with others.

I am not weak
For swimming with the water's course
Rather than climbing ashore
When the river is going where I must,
For it would be far easier,
Far more convenient,
And far less painful
To push my joy,
My sorrow,
And my love far away.
Yet, here I am,
Catching on each log,
Each basin,
And each precipice,
Feeling it all
In the wash out to sea.

I hear it before I see it -
A steady everywhere-roar.
A sleepy tumble
to slide the slats of blinds
confirms:
Turbulent and torrential
puddles seem to leap
ever-so-slightly skyward
with each wet wallop.
It is the determined,
slantwise
rain of change,
blustering with purpose,
washing winter woes.
I dress -
  pink galoshes
  pink slicker
  pink smile
To greet this
Gray April Shower

"I could live here,
In the mountains,"
I say,
Any time I go anywhere
with mountains.

The words are involuntary.
No spells have been cast
Yet I am enchanted
For better or worse.

"I could go there,
Anywhere,"
I say,
Any time you say
you want to go.

My eyes fly open
And flick to the light
This time your ghost
Has stayed the night.
Your smiles and laughter
In dreams I've kept,
But I've held too long
And overslept.

Being with you
Means I don't have to imagine
What it would be like
And I can just be.
Being with you
Means I don't have to worry about
What you really think,
When to time my words,
Or if you'd kiss me.
I know that
You will tell me what you can,
My words can tumble without stopper,
And we won't touch.
My wild imagination must be tamed
Or it will plumb the deepest depths
And climb to treacherous precipices.
Being with you
Quiets this beast.
Being with you
Is always better, brighter, and steadier
Than I imagine.

The Sea of Tranquility descends tonight
into waning, gibbous shadow
As I bear witness to the sight,
I can't help but wonder -
How many moons
have I waited and watched,
And which cycle signals
the end if this working?
My rituals greet phases
full after new
Celebrating faces
both blood red and new
Eclipsing even the sun
from full view.
It seems by now
the spell must be sown,
And perhaps it has been
For while I was waiting and watching,
I certainly have grown.

For a moment
the world is mist and stillness,
but then you hear it.
A distant howl pierces the fog,
accompanied by the clattering
and thundering
of the unseen beast:
metal wheels on metal rails.
And suddenly, the iron dragon appears.
Steam rises from its nostril
and it bellows a warning
that echoes from the mountainsides.
It's charged frame
cuts through to this plane,
snaking its way through canyons
and impossible passes
for just a moment
before passing back through the veil
to the realm of the mystical
from whence it tore.

Sometimes I wonder
if we were really meant to be,
if our irregular edges
wouldn't fit better elsewhere,
if our promises weren't made
by two totally different people.
But then I remember,
there's no such thing as "meant to be",
we weren't molded as two
completely fulfilled entities in one,
people change,
and love can and will,
be found where chemistry strikes.
But our partnership is a choice.

And maybe it was foolish to choose
to anchor two seaworthy ships,
both headed for adventure
on opposite seas
so early in their journeys.
And yet, there are so many
places I would not have been,
things I would not have felt, and
conversations I would not have had,
without you.

Not all days are smooth sailing,
and I still intend to see other shores,
but we know that now,
and we have each others' oars.
We belong to no one,
And yet, I'm yours.

My ribcage:
Full, then hollow,
Snatches of memory,
then fear,
Press, snag, then release,
Like Breathing.
Heavy, ponderous breathing.