By startlight hush of wind
the owl's shadow voice
the campfire embers glowing inner universe by firelight
smoke curls weaving faint
coyote voices faint the pain
and smell of pitch fire
I sing you stars
I breathe obsidian
and again the owls shadow voice
leans back into times past singing first fire
brittle spine bent bowed toward the fire
voices low to murmur a child whimper

deer fat ****** upon to gentle dreaming
the mother of her song
the night cradles child
the owl, too, has young tiny hearts
and warmth of down and old man
coughing guttural spit to fire
young people giggling beneath hidden fondlings
soon to sleep
again coyote voices drown the mind
in a loneliness of deep respect
in love of those who camp just up the hill
and tiny crystals of tears
spatter the dust
legs that cannot ever carry me back to you
soul that holds you forever

I wish I could make you feel all I smell and see
When the sun shines through the tall grass in a Southern Maryland breeze
When field flies hover in the golden, fading sunset, suspended in their wandering
When crickets and croakers sing their evening songs, humming along to the universal sound
When twilight fades to startlight where city lights fade to black
When love is planted and pruned in rolling rows of farmland
When new seeds sprout of a life worth falling and staying in love with
When the pages of history are not simply learned, but lived
When a small boat's sail first fully fills with a westward wind and leaves the dock in it's wake
When children come in from play to mothers and fathers, smelling sweet of sweat and sunshine
When sand, soil, shells, and stones pave paths for the bold and barefoot
When brackish water breezes stick to skin like kisses and tans and waves on the shoreline
When Spring fades into Summer, and early May silently yet steadily stretches in her seasonal tension of the in-between
I wish I could make you feel this.
|b.g.|

tickles of startlight
(and flutters of fancy)
dedicate a sermon
to all the hopeful dreamers
casting a wish tonight.

vivid imaginations
moved by frank impossibilities
peeled away the layers
to reveal a mellow thought.

we are not all that we seem
(but not quite what we imagined)
yet there are still a few of us
unafraid of standing out.

heroes destined not to be remembered
and adversaries universally praised
line the pages of this notebook
in ink that looks the same.

embers and coals alive and whispering
haunting memories quick and ticking
fill my addled brain
with threads i cannot follow.

but You can
with all your acquiescent defiance
and souls alight with our raw potential
push us into tomorrow.