At Home in Wild Places
Actual and Implied Lines
It is no small thing to write
A good line
Of poetry, or maybe a song
That rings so true, so deep
And easy that you swear you’ve
Known it always or
Heard it before
Just a string of simple words
Hung in the sun
In the backyard of your heart
The clothesline for a dream,
A secret or a scheme,
A blueprint for a lie
Or a simple hook
On which to hang
Your thoughts to dry
The story line is
Larger than life, epic
Or not, novel but short
In your long line
Of good things to read
Cross this line, hold that line
Stay inside
The lines, I hum to myself
Knowing all the while
That good songs and
Good stories
Unfold in the seams
In the space that is empty
In the notes in between.
At Home in Wild Places
Meet me in the woods
Where the inconstant light
Hints the way
To a path that is both
Route and destination
We don’t need a map
Only time to walk
And maybe a soft wish to let
The conversation of our lives
Be replaced by the music
Of the river
The language of trees
And our own hearts
Beating time to
The rhythm of the day
Mama
It’s been almost three years
and I see now that
the angel of you is
not a ghost
as I had hoped
But rather
a quiet glance of light
as I drive across
the bridge
at dawn
a rustle in the trees
That startles me
as I run
the way strong
coffee tastes
at that first sip
of morning
or music that lands
in my bones
a tiny bird in my path
a warm tight hug
a burst of laughter
these sudden flares of joy
a flash, a prayer
are the sweet treasures
of the common day
that is when I see you,
your angel heart holding
fast to mine
and I say aloud:
Oh hi Mama
I was just thinking of you
Dance
It was always easy between
The evening and the sun
The last sip of day going
Down smooth
In a buttery sky
As the night sidled in
Music in my glass
Wine in my limbs
Dancing without thought
To my favorite song:
Bees humming together in
Honey and light
And that strum of desire
A steady waterfall of want
Playing in my bones
And in the deep
Pounding rhythm
Of the flesh of my heart
But now, the first touch
Of air on my new skin
Is a secret remembered
Your eyes fixed on mine
Your breath in my ear
We are fire and ice and
The desert at night
Cool and electric
Sharp and soft
A monsoon of music
Simmering in our veins
As we dance far and away
Close and together
A Birthday Poem for Madeline
Occasion poems are dumb
and yet
I want to write you
A birthday poem
Just a few simple words
Cobbled together
To say things more
Than words can say
I want to fly you
A birthday poem
That scribbles
This big love
In puffy white letters on
A blue October sky
I want to ride to you
A birthday poem
That gallops on sure feet
Across the desert
To bring you
A tall glass of cold water
I want to bake you
A birthday poem
That tastes like mint tea
On your grandmother’s porch
And smells like
Sage and wind
I want to knit you
A birthday poem
That falls on you just right
In your best color
Worn and soft
Beside your perfect skin
