TREE IN AUTUMN

Auburn thrashing in the morning light,

She fought against the reaping wind.

She lost her poise and her grace,

A shambles was her dress.

Autumn stripped her bare,
And sheltered in her bones.

PAISLEY, OREGON

Lake is a misnomer in Modoc country.

Goose, Summer, Silver, just names

and as barren as deserts.

The outback, they call it,

where the threat of rain

is their oldest fossil

and the fable we landed in

one night.

In the dark, slick as snakes,

with sulfur on our skin,

we ran blindly for shelter,

the wind, a dragon at our backs.

Somewhere in the morphology of the night

we found Faith, wine and dice 

and a gratitude that curled inside us like a teardrop

we’d save for the next pilgrimage.

JINX

fickle spirit

glutton of love

when all your preening has left you bored

come yowling at our door

and watch the night grow hinges

and our hearts open up its house

traipse across our tables

purloin from the pooches bowl

step where we step

try to trip us up

it is guaranteed we’ll fall

climb into our angles

and close your  grey-blue eyes

splay your every limb

let the music motor forth

but please tame your knife-like fire

don't let the lightning strike                                             

don't open up the vein

we promise to behave

to surmise your every need

as long as you don't hex us

or let the jinx stray from it cage

OXYGEN

The wind soughing in the trees

is a line only a poet would write.

And soughing is a word

only a poet would

muscle into a poem.

So when I came to

the line and the word

a chill ran through me,

something deep within

swayed, shivered and sighed -

an ancient part of myself

stirred…

and I found myself

gasping for air.

It was then that I knew

I had a tree inside -

and couldn’t breath

because the two trees,

the one within me

and the one on the page

in the poem I was reading,

were busy singing

each to each

and using me

to make their oxygen,

their song.