I always end up back at home
in the aftermath of some hard-won victory
out in the world,
strung out from adrenaline and effort,
hauling a plastic cup of plastic mardi gras beads,
and needing a sit down with a straight-talking angel.
All Things Shine
Once I asked how to remember
a dark thing
with joy and gratitude
It was answered
by good time
As heartfelt questions are
Unfolding in a lifetime of wins
and losses that turn out to be wins
and time whispers like a breeze
evoking all brilliant beautiful shining things
blessing for sweet time
let these days go on and on
these that have been snatched away
now reclaimed from effort
stolen from line standing
rescued from busyness and business
divinity took it back
without effort
because it is time
to have time
for the good earth
for enough sleep
to make breakfast
to listen
I like it
being in my place
in my creation
in my heart
in my garden
never going back
upside down creator medicine
We built so much as neophytes
We propped it all up with a wink to the truth
It wouldn’t last but we didn’t care
Like a toddler when the jig is up
We scrambled to get our licks in
We’ve been slapping it together fast and cheap
While she’s been on her way to snatch us up
Mother love knows no transgression
That cannot be forgiven
But even while enjoying that degree of grace
We could only build things that beg for death
Like a wildfire or a bloody revolution
Like an addict
Shoddy and hollow
Malware
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malignant code is running
in the background of your mind
invisible hurts metastasized
their poison overwriting your grace
inscrutable code
transmutes your beauty
into vile duplicity
what I would give
to have loved you
as a child
Stepping off my ride to nowhere
which can yield nothing
compared to warm red tomatoes
I find the ohm
between sleep
and all this cold coffee
and unattended need
I pick dewy weeds
barefoot
having silent conversations
with the patient mother
who inscrutably coordinates
this green heaven
where flowers turn to peaches
and death to loamy earth
Her unrelenting circular cadence
makes me think about buckwheat and honey bees
rising creeks and moon phases
I am reminded
strive for nothing
working and dancing
are the same thing
Compound Interest
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Like karma on your karma
Doesn’t seem right
If money really mattered
There would be no such thing
Losing as Winning Again
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A sweet epiphany
Joyful liberation
Upon awakening
As the weight of trying
Evaporates
Leaving me slightly disoriented
But with a transcendent peace
In waves, appreciating
The heaviness of so much grinding
Realizing the lightness of it’s absence
Slowly counting each new opportunity
Every new place
The sun can get in
Revealing the gaps
Where the poison once crouched
And we will fill in the holes
To make pockets of gold
Fill them with the lightness
And the light
Of ourselves
How Home Is
Industry percolates out back in a house of windows. A pitcher of late summer weeds and medicine greens anchor the center of a round wood table that wears the beauty of decades of purely utilitarian treatment. There is room for all of us at the table, including the unnamed and as yet, absent, who will arrive in various states of enlightenment and dishevelment. We are joined loosely by constraints and steadfastly by principle.
We have drawn close to one another. We are busy and the work of our hands is fruitful. Our laughter and our labor keeps perfect cadence as we play in the music of the hum of the earth.
In winter, morning finds our circle small and closer, still. The fire already crackling and glowing as I arise. Cello music and warm cats, fresh coffee and rich cream against the gray sleet falling on our garden. Soft voices planning for spring, collected around the hearth. Last year’s seeds waiting for April in the bountiful larder of our collaboration, fortifying our bones and our dreams. Our rhythm slows to a heartbeat’s pace among the blankets, catalogs, and blueprints.
SHINE ON 