on a good day

I like to walk out

barefoot

to the ragged edge of my sanity

and hang my toes over the crumbling

lip of reason.

Hair whipping wild about my head
in the sweet-sour updraft
from the deep beyond me,

I raise my arms and shout

daring the wind

to show some muscle.

a darker set of wings

There is a hole
in my house where
the wasp crawls in
again and again

I spend
countless hours
catching it up
in an empty glass
to let it fly free
in the garden
but it never
fails to
return

even so
I cannot bring
myself to crush
its

glossy

delicate

menace
.

meteor shower

alone on my back
between midnight and morning,
I wait and shiver
against freezing fingers of wind
slipping up between boards of the deck.

my eyes fixed on the deep above
through frame of roof and treetop

it begins.

first one…
then three…
seven…
I lose count
they come so quickly

tiny bits of cosmic (more than ancient)
dust on a journey too vast,
for a time too great
to be grasped by the humbled creature
I have suddenly become.

so beautiful the flaring streaks of light.
so elegant their arc and curve.
each blaze a brief and brilliant
death.

not a
molecule
left
intact.

what was
is no more.

and I watch in wonder,
in growing terror
that such a thing should be
so silent.

i swallowed it

Small dark sliver
of glossy black
pulled from a crack
in the sidewalk

Strange, it seemed
a living liquid thing
in my hand,
silently singing
its siren song,
too lovely
to ignore.

A swift slip
down my throat
and the heat of it
settled and spread
in my belly,
filling me up
with a hollow
need.

From ache to pain
this gnawing swells
so quickly I can
hardly breathe,

and I try to quell
the panic as I cannot
help but wonder
just exactly

what

might satisfy
this hunger.

collecting freckles

Collecting freckles
at the shore,
wind and spray
play wild in my hair.

I mark miles of sand
with a barefoot rule
to the cooling caress
of ocean foam
and reflect
in the light
of a blazing sun.

I search the horizon...
the sky...
the sea...
until a fresh perspective
finds me.

Unburdened
by this quiet gift,
I am content
to turn toward home.

traveler

there was a traveler
who wrapped his swollen heart
in an old rag and set it down
beside the road.
he stood a moment and looked
upon this sodden bundle in the dirt,
both relief and regret
in his posture.

he then resumed his journey
and with a noticeably lighter step,
though he could no longer call to mind
his destination.

waking

in dream
with crushing weight of vision
she stood
knife in hand
before a towering wall of flesh
she knew to be her heart

every part of it carved
in weeping red
desperate letters
blazing bleeding welts
pleading pain
and blood
in urgent warning

resolve stilled the corners
of her quivering mouth
as understanding
settled

waking
shaking sleep
struggling to breathe
against the gravity of the dream
still heavy in her chest
she wonders at such a gift
of clarity and wisdom

but a sudden cold
clench of despair
brings hot tears
and a breathless cry
dies in her throat

she cannot recall
a single word