Saturday, November 27, 2010

you are a gracious wind
and i, alone in a woodland, wandering

on restless nights, I have awakened
to your hands pressing on the windowpane
calling me gently, outside, look, my voice
sweeps years away, and I have brought the rain.

oh wind, many have whispered to me
of your tuneless song, imperfect, drifting
across my cabin's door, you are twist-turning
and plotting a storm to peak;
they warn of your myriad ways
and although i close the window, still your hands rattle
and your voice calls strong, out, out the door
and deep into the wild throne
my kingdom in moonlight, come hither
but you are darkness sweeping darkness
and i am a lone light, adrift;
your force as strong as the willow's bend;
my sweet joy, you've come, dare i dash
and leap through the woodlands, you tempt
me to a madness of dreams half kept;
I clear the clouds for you, so you would promise
not a storm, but passion rains.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Sweet child, be at peace. Be calm and wait. I am creating a life for you. It is my joy.

Many losses have yet to come, but you will gain what is priceless. I know the value of all things, and above all, you are valuable to me. You are far from forgotten, and as the months roll by, you will see how I envision your life, and all of the changes I have made in the endeavor to complete you. We are together now. There is no other way. Nothing can stand between us -- not the flaws of others, not the traps of desire, nor the path of worldly weight. With me, you are the wind and water, the silence, the shade of the trees. With me, you are all that is.

And what have you to fear, when the heart of the world looks upon you with love? What have you to doubt, when you favor me above all things? Do you think I do not listen? I write you letters as you write me. I sign my name in the grass at your feet and speak through the whispers of a hundred voices. I compel their hands; I know their tongues. You stretch yourself to understand, and I move that you might see me. Dear child, I am not hiding. I am with you as we speak. I am on your shoulder as we write.

You ask if I can move the universe, and sweet child, I have been... but you are fragile. You, above all else, are as delicate as finely blown glass. To move too swiftly would cause cracks. Under too much heat, there would be flaws. Just look at the porcelain of your hands; at the slender slope of your fingers. I am the artisan, and you, my unfinished symmetry; a carefully crafted song.

It shall pass soon. The winds have calmed and there shall be a great peace. You will have time to rebuild, to become what we have planned. Hold me tightly and be still, and know that you are safe.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Life, give back...

Life, give back to a wounded heart! or breathe
that I might fill my breath, and find some rest
with the inner peace of a drying lake--
we sleep awake, not silent, as the dead.

And how might the rage of a wounded heart
find tranquil waters to soothe the soul, neither
love or hope shall take us far upon the road
that stretches ever 'til an end, unknown.

We have no place to lay our hearts, no shelf
or box, or tools of trade to mend the cracks,
or instructions lent, or simple truths to
lead us back through summers of time, ill spent.

Do we sleep alone? What has love to show
a tuneless note, or restless words in silence.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

cut the anchor, oh Lord, I feel the swell
compel me forward, a great wave
of humble beginnings. I know
I shall not walk this shore again,
not in the daylight clasping slender hands
nor at evening, when we gazed high and low
to the gentle stars setting, rising, spinning--
swept of their own volition, here I have laid
moored for seasons to a firm dock
and stone paths where feet have come and gone.
I once sat upon the shoreline and watched
ships of all sizes, full of children
drift back and forth to the horizon, and wondered
how far and long, and how cold that sea
and where the lands that only others see,
our sails are waiting for an errant breeze
and here it is, at dawn, mercilessly
playing with the flap and fold. cast the rope
my pilot, compass, ocean's guide and captain's cloak;
I know the shore, and I greet the endless waves.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Welcome Home

Aglow in the Garden

Who are we, but sparks on the water

fading lanterns dipped in night

a wall curves around the garden.

at its base, stones where we sat

contemplating ritual smoke and

statues of deities overgrown

the lanterns are aglow in my eyes

but I cannot see clearly between

where the darkness gathers, night bunching its skirts

as a dancer spinning

we sit, lost in wonder

stars amidst darkened trees

we weave shadows into sound

we are all aglow in the garden

we are candlelight shed softly upon the ground