Seeing you

Your picture

I saw it yesterday 

hair the color of autumn wheat hanging to your waist 

the set of your mouth

determined as a shy youth at a spelling bee

child with a million words 

no fears 

except of what lies ahead

This morning I awakened 

knowing these things

you at your best 

incarnation as artist writer poet

glued to the world as entrepreneur 

film maker

presenter of others best efforts 

Unaffected by shiny things

not thinking of beach houses 

inheritance 

quickest and easiest ways to produce cash

But thriving in all circumstances 

love as your touchstone 

no tears

arms embracing as the oak tree

culture woven ideas lofty as redwoods

this is the you who becomes love of life 

spread like butter 

across the worlds of those who

intersect with yours

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

May 20 2022

 Between Santa Fe and Albuquerque 

dust and smoke litter the air

into brownness 

soft yellow hues where sunlight is lost

distant fires prompted in wind

rush down weedy arroyos

half size tumbleweeds scurry over asphalt 

singed leaves separated from branches

form wind cones in the parking lot

joined by cottonwood fluff

if the soft chaos had been after a pillow fight 

there would have been ghosts of laughter

take a deep breath

the scents of spring do linger

for now

May 16 2021

 Yearning

This morning I dipped my fingers into the dirt

Twice I reached into the soil

Once it was crumbly, hard, and rough 

my fingers scraped at the surface 

moved little 

rough rocks buried halfway stuck like dimes in concrete

Then, under a layer of fallen juniper berries and dried up leaf ends

dirt like sand

textured nearly as dust

dry as dunes

dirt I could move

dirt without the property of embracing itself 

Where is the mycelium bound ground

musky dark soil

laced with decayed root structure

ah, to dip my fingers in fragrant loam

give the earth tiny seeds

where it will then weave mats upon the earth 

leaves and flowers dense beside my path

Return, yes, to the roots 

shady green places

of long ago 

to call my own

Bonus poem for NaPoWriMo 2022

 last day of #NaPoWriMo

On the cusp of the third house

today there is an eclipse

for a moment the light is obscured

Astrological twilight at midday

stars come out

constellations declare themselves

Outside the window of words

are paths worn smooth under the feet of our progeny 

here a patch of poison oak

there a drop down into thorny arroyo 

In the Noh play 

I watched the fierce mama lion 

but I chose the way of the wildflowers

So I gesture at the lion

while wearing a crown of oak leaves 

unable to catch my breath or run 

where are my words 

in the ruins at dusk at midday 

All that is left here

a smooth rock to rest upon

as day returns 

you watch with me 

while the constellations vanish into the light