restless nocturne

I do not wake
from day to day
morning, night
ever the same
wakeful sleeping
my very skin
lies restless
on these bones
bleached white
by moonlight
brittle as day
in December
the recollection
of things once
wished for
ties the threads
of my minutes
to intervening
hours, hours, hours
of wakeful nothing
to sleep
to dream
soft wishes
a pillow
grey dust
of night’s
bright stars
to cover
me over
at peace
at last

winter

here we do not have
circles of stones
to mark the solemnity
of the passing seasons
of changing times
instead the crows
cry ceaselessly in the cold
or cackle cruelly at the dawn’s
watery-eyed failure to warm
the crisp earthen pathways
here the trees throw their leaves
and stand in naked defiance
of snow-heavy skies
winter lays down her mantle
and weaves her frigid fingers
through the cracks in the sills
here we bide our time
through the gray days
waiting for the laughter of crows
and the trees to weep
in green relief
of warmer days

untitled

for just today then
let’s pretend
my feet have found
the homeward running road
weaving between heart-lands
wide mind-skies
just for a moment
I’ll imagine
the weight of waiting
has evaporated
in the hesitant light
of a newly waking sun
casting my shadow before
long with longing
for a small spell
I will dream
this distance
has become
a beginning
beginning now
the start of the heart
thundering home
for a few breaths
I’ll breathe the peace
of knowing
which way my road goes
which shining horizon
holds home
in which direction
lies reason for hope

early winter landscape

gold grains stir
their dry dreams rustling
softly beneath the
crest of a red sun rising
over frost-kissed fields
from stillness waking
stalks bent and broken
here, there, here
marking the path
of night’s passing
the pale arc of the moon
quietly slides
into the pink of morning
ghost fingers of fog
cling to the darkened hollow
between the earth’s curves
chasing a dark-winged bird
into the yawning sky

climbing trees

we are never too old
for trees
for the young delight we find
in climbing them
even now I judge maples
by their ascend-ability
and by the view
through the leaves
straddling long boughs
like leafy-maned mares
we ride through skies
of summer and youth
lean back and look high
let yourself fall
let yourself fly
but above all
climb

untitled

already it’s October
and the time of the starlings
black feathered masses
diving madly between trees
cacophonous dawning
of earlier nights
feather-fanned winds
stirring linden leaves
already lost to the gutters
in damp yellow drifts
of regret

summer’s end

in August
the evenings pulse
in insect anthems
and the curled moon bows
beneath the weight
of summer’s passing
the air presses
its grass-sweet breath
against the earth
in kisses that scorch
the first verse
of summer’s end

I long for long grasses…

I long for long grasses
and the song of the wind as it passes
through the feather-fingered fronds

I ache for wide open spaces
and the swoop of the thrush as it laces
the fallow fields to the dawn

I dream in green gloaming
of the long pale road in its roaming
as it calls me away from my home
calls me away from my home…

I am pulled to wandering…

I am pulled to wandering
as the stars in sky seasons
follow the invisible lines
left deep-grooved by the burning
ice of their prior passings

here is where my sky tilts
disconcertingly tipped toward night
and her star-scarred breast
our sighs mingle in the cold dust
of meteoric contrails
the only evidence of our passage

someday my night will right itself
and I and the stars will return
to our beginnings
sharply bright and shining
with the regret of our wanderings

Changes

After much upheaval, a major health scare, and a whole lot of nervousness and self-reflection, something wonderful is finally happening. On June 22nd, I’ll say my final goodbyes to Seattle and the great Pacific Northwest and make the long journey to New York. Seattle has been home to me like no other place has been before and I’ll miss her dearly. (She may even pop up in a few poems down the line.) But change is a part of every life and I have to believe that things happen for a reason. This will be an opportunity for growth and self-exploration – a fresh, new beginning with someone I think just maybe I’m meant to be with.

So while things will be quiet on the wordpress front, I promise to return with new pieces from a fresh perspective. I’ll have plenty of catch-up reading to do once I get settled down, but read I shall. In the meantime, may your pens be sharp, your fingers swift, and may the words fall into line on the page before you…