Don't bury it
burn
the hatchet
and the money
and the     grass.
All frightening things
seem trivial
once the moment           starts to pass.

Too many boys made you feel like the grass in Texas
Dead
You should be loved for what's inside your head and heart.

On the plains of silent gasp did it wonder
Its grace wisped upon the long grass, never
Seen but like the gentle breath of dancing.
It was never hushful in this place of breath.

Air did the grass sway to the movement's
Whispering upon the motions like a melody
Of ruffled motions, it played in this fluctuating
Gesture of tranquillity that always moved.

Swaying in rhythm as if the reeds did play,
As if fond of the others movements and then
Stillness till whispers graced and the plains.
All did dance once again.

On The plain of silent gasp, unheard off torment
As this was the exodus of lost souls, every motion
Brought a sting to the soul, as swaying grass, cured
On this plain of silent breath, silent screams quelled.

Withering in torment, never delve into the silence
As breath it exhales all and joins others moments
Where vessels fell and the anguish breathed upon
The grass. each huddling for away to serenities rest.

boy coils in the lawn
& early air.
grass touching him wet,
smoke crawls from his lips,

into the blue awoken,
or sky before his face.
there it dances like wild life lived
& falls away with breezy.

dearly herb to glossy reds,
he purses, thus to inhale.
sparked ember, spark clench, fist to fist.
life given to life encapsulated.

the sense of it goes steady,
goes patent cool.
he exhales, and looks to the south,
where his legs once were.

Once Upon A Time…

I was a rock
Strong and proud as rock may be
Nothing could be more fulfilling than to be that rock
When you are looked upon as the symbol of strength
Always being that strength for all time
How strong it feels to be the rock
Over time I was eroded in a mere pebble
All that could chisel me down came like a storm
Everything that gave me strength was destroyed
Sometimes even the rock needs something to lean on
But the sands of the foundation
That which once was my own rock
Drifted away
Down the hill to where it lay
Tumbling down
In a downward spiral
Bashed to pieces
I became just a pebble
A concise pebble was me
With full conscience
Of my former self
I lay now next to the grass
And in time we became closer
Yet again time was not the friend
And the storms came and washed the grass down
Down the hill myself I rolled
As that foundation too was gone
Fate as it be
I found refuge next to the grass
And the sand was kind
It rolled gently beneath
Now I covered and gave the root of my grass
Sanctuary and a place to flourish
And together we gave joy to each other
Here on earth
Looking at the wonderment of sky

Swallows dip and rise this morning brings
more than pennies treat for my two sense

Each grass blade swaths my skin
holding me barely off the ground
but nonetheless off of the Earth

A flying bird with hundreds of green feathers
closes his eyes as his soul sings

With the swallows

Although I hardly gave it a thought
I didn't really doubt
our miniature juniper, a bonsai,
would survive our desert vacation.
                                                       ­   It likes the dry
air of our home, needs water
once a week at most and seems
meditative and active, both. While away
I rediscovered my love of agaves -
                                                          sotol­ and century
plant - met Mortonia and became
reacquainted with squawbush, its citrus
drupe which makes traveling the long horizon
of the desert uplands endurable.
                                                      ­    Live oaks - emory,
wavyleaf - dominant and regally spaced
giving ground to mesquite only on the sere
sand flats. I counted and drew inflorescenses,
spikelets, florets, awns but grasses
                                                         ­  remain a mystery
their microscopic parts. This year
I'll study, give them serious thought before
our Spring starts. The cactus wren was the one
bird I could be certain about. Sunsets
                                                         ­  made me sorry
the desert is not my home. But the ocotilloes
flowered before we left and that made up
for the vicious attack of a hedgehog cactus.
Impressive, ponderosa pine and Arizona cypress
                                                         ­  the canyon canopy
watered with snowmelt and along the high cliffs
limestone formations predating our arrival by
ten million years of weather. Newspapers
kept us aware humanity had not accomplished yet
                                                           the end of history
and that was fair. The planes were full of citizens
who no longer applaud upon landing. Snow flew,
not a pinyon pine or manzanita within two moons
walking. On the dining room sideboard, waiting,
                                                        ­   our miniature juniper.