Here We Are

 It has been said

“I want us to grow old together”

yet who imagines 

that lively face punished by time’s desert

those strong brown legs bowed over uncertain feet

Once I imagined us children together 

chasing tadpoles in the summer creek

fingers blackberry stained

clothes red with mud

It is not youth I am after 

there is something like a dream 

in these days where each gets designed upon waking

canvas of hours

paints made from what is between us

nearly a hundred fifty years 

gathering essences of plant and rock

observing insect wings

finding direction in the trajectory of falling snow

palette of petals of late and early daylight

We are as the air passing through aspens

having been in storied places

no longer who or what

we are now feathers 

we are now wafting campfire tales

with purpose 

growing old together, how very weird.

On the Return from Harsh Times

 

We nurture what we love

still the leaves can drop 

decline begins its withering

life seems to run away from us

dragging the cherished ones

into its wilderness

Stop! I cried! 

At my side the hands that still

intransigence 

touch me like desert thorns 

After putting used plates in the dishwasher 

lining up forks and spoons in the washing tray

combing tufts from the dog

speaking of why a screen door is needed

After watering every leaf in the garden

I ran to find the new leaves of summer

grape vines climbing the trellis

borage seeding itself

jasmine, gardenia, wisteria, begonia 

This euphorbia had dropped its leaves

not one by one

but rashly after one day on the shady porch 

it shrugged them off as if in a fever

declaring itself over the changes 

we brought it to the other shade 

now it thrives 

There is not a solution for everything

I try to accept that 

bitter biting taste

is it in penance or communion

is there a difference?

Love poem

Your hands upon the strings of your magical voice 
might cause the grass to flower 

the crows to bring gifts

hummingbirds to trace notes in the sky with their wings

I can see the wind in your eyes 

your fingers move with the eagle 

soaring 

finding the invisible 

parts of air 

below you  

pulse of the hot earth 

matches my heartbeat 

with your rhythms 

Together we are the hunters  

of the vanishing yellow birds 

of the long-tusked elephants 

to gather them together in words 

and sounds  

before reckless tides sweep them away 

Together we will not be myth 

but truth  

not promise 

but real as the shuddering leaves  

of the midday winds

those winds of July becoming August

here in the small house of big dreams