woman, why,,,

Woman, why,

are you crying

because sea rise

wraps silken floods around

sparse dry land

and we watch her gently

rush in and break the heart land--

strain the threads of barbed wire we imposed and carve her own

path-patchwork

in bends and wiles.

The ocean warming yet yearns

to cool the stony clods of smoke

buouyed  by betrayal

--That would fall into her arms--

because deep isn’t troubled

By our blatant disregard for

her way of life and

is always

reclaiming what belongs

to her

each time

she ebbs and flows.

She fidgets, fumbles and pulls at sand in hands

made of melted ice?

For the trapped animal

on the small land of being woman

beginning

to question

her cage of barren branches:

over against the white sky

they are never

/more than/

cracks in the heavens.

because her face upward greets the rain

coming off the brittle fingertips

--Two drips at once--

Until she has reason

To believe it is not (just ice)

--her tears falling fast enough--

to cause the ocean to swell.

For Advent 2018

Posadas Poem

She hears the flute of favor rising from graves and grace,

Abraham’s blood dances in her arteries,

Moses’ voice rises from her throat,

Leaning down to the bristle of mane on her cheek,

Whispering simple words of gratitude into the largesse of a trusted ear,

Caresses the velvet cheek and watches the dust, pollen spray in a beam of light.

She sings a quiet song of slavery days to stay awake

And he hears the flute of foreign family

Trill and sweet against the piquant mandate.

Written and enforceable,

They approach the receding horizon of time and place

to be counted among the ancestors.

He lifts the shame lightly

And beautiful round hope rests

Against the spine of a stubborn animal.

This child within a child carried aplod,

Embraced by the warm womb,

Atop the humble percussion of gravel beneath hooves and

The rhythm of the journey calms the blessed trinity

As they move toward the fulfillment

Of the generations’ desire for redemption.

He places one hand on the robes around her shoulder,

Another hand on a leather strap,

As they amble carefully

between high walls and hard places,

Meeting the countenance of knotted wood,

With calloused knuckles.

He is familiar with the shapes and grain that usually cede

But on this night he cannot shape them or

open their saply spaces to his knowing touch

And he resorts to shouting familiar names into lighted windows

that refuse to recognize his voice and suddenly go dark

Because of the burden on the burro behind him.

In search of comfort in a cave,

They find the colt tied and the fatted calf

Of a story yet untold

And rest with relief:::

There must be a God,,, gladly, watching, God

Guiding the shepherd’s heart

Gazing through the sparkle of stars lighting the bramble landscape of fear,

Observing with protective eye

the lineage of lost sheep, now found,

bravely wandering, wanting to emerge

from within a woman in a rush of windsong and wisdom.

autumn//proverbs

Petal Proverbs

Or Golden Rows Rules to Live By

Kneeling among the roses disregards their nonsense height and thorns

caught in nightshade tendrils.

A bell and a foghorn symphony shake even the geode skin around fractured hearts.

There is space on the floor and space in the water and space in the sky

For sleep and skin and stars.

There is no way to say goodbye because you’ve never left;

You harvested what fell to the ground, wrapped in papery skin, you climbed between the tomato vines and slept among the seeds like they were stars to guide you home.

Friends are easily lost on the way home and when they break into more than two dignified pieces; you may accidentally inhale the dust of convincing lament and keep going.

A gaggle and flock wait for your voice to rouse the roost and sink

halfheartedly, webbedly hissing, into the moonlit pink inky water beneath the dock.

They can’t steal what won’t start.

Love is an ingredient like acid and salt; it preserves what would have gone bad.

Hasta cuando

Cuando La Luna es Nuevo y Llenado

…the birds are below us just so

I can see the possible flowers and I study the parentheses

Around your smile,

I am drunk on the plush of red

Cushions where I blush and you

Don’t yet know to expect I am lost a little

Biting lips and

Pressing into

Awkward questions all about

The first time I make you laugh so

Hard you feel it all over like wind

on your skin,

The first time I taste tears (yours, mine) and

Silence that tingles,

Discovering places to plant kisses

Or smell your soul,

Finding freckles and favorite

Patches of skin, like love notes

Yet unsung…

Like the moment when I force myself to

Keep going rather than stop

In front of you-

Each tiny regret pulsing

Because I didn’t know I could

Ask you to come out

To kiss me goodnight in the rain…

Or in half light

I see in your face that you are

Reading mine like

it’s the story of sacred thoughts

Crow Rise

Crow rise

Before the sun speaks

crows jump out of the locust tree with the thin lines tied to their spindly black ankles

And pull the sun out of her warm horizon.

As they fly they converse in encouraging cackles like the souls of aunties

Teaching and reaching

with their wise black beaks

caw calling kah craw creatures

come crawling if you must

and ride dark wings into the day.

The kaws draws crushing

Hearts awake to ride the thin red lines and pink stuff scuffling past.

The rooftops catch fire briefly

And there is nowhere to light and watch until the flames are high enough, above the blaze of fluff and haze.