THE GASP

The whole story held its breath

when the deer struck the earth

with its hoof. The listener 

at the door next door  

wept when a young beauty 

couldn’t wake her lover 

with wailings and musky tears. 

Lonely dieties, lit by lightning, 

no longer remember

a midnight tundra or a bush 

in thought. Turn me into 

a lamp, why don’t you! Steal

my light from the sun.

My forgotten footprints

are a mimicry of invisibility 

that will bluster any moonlit suitor.

Hide time in hidden hibernations,

under animal skin. Gambol with

my grief at the edges 

of adoration. Rupture 

the consequential into new 

constellations. Wriggle metaphor 

into the rhythms of startled frost.

Forget all my nephew’s names,

so that your velvet nuzzle will

cause my plumage to enfold

all the directions 

before catching fire.

IN SEASON

I am putting down

what I've been carrying.

I am letting the edges 

of my being relax, soften.

I am holding on to nothing.

I am letting last year's learning

dissolve into knowing.

I am letting seeking seep into being.

I am letting doubt decompose into trust.

I am allowing innocence to seed into maturity.

I am letting numbness winter it way to compassion.

I am shedding resistance.

I am pruning myself back. 

I am going dormant.

It takes all the seasons to become bare.

It takes opening to loss, to grief

to fully feel all the emotions

that live inside the terrain

of what it means to be human.

I am taking this season

to remember who I am again.

SETTLED

We land

where we land.

Nature's miscellany

does also.

But when it does

it is free

of complaint

or regret. It,

unlike us,

will just sit

settled and glowing

in the embrace

of a sunny

winter's day.

INTENTION

Tug on the thorn
and its spell

is cast.
The rose will

catch fire
but the blossom 

won't burn.
The flames

are now
the flower.