Death spoke to me in parable
Of cheetah and disaster
I cannot recall how I received
But I did not remember

Meadow, circumspect and fair
I wade upon thy browline
As a dolphin dances on air
Mystic moon-o face pale in my palm
I kiss you in greeting
Nightwind brushes past my knees
To play within the meadow
I bow and take my place here
A pebble a star a sunshard

That I were a sparrow
On wing in God’s sky
Only startled by the window
As I sail on through and bye

I mind hair in my face
The tickling beard
But the closeness of you
Superimposes
Over the fuse of annoyance
Stamping it out

Through wounds, I’ve met the Healer
In darkest night seen starlight
In briars found wildflowers
And spark extracted from stone
The world is cruel, ’tis true
But truer still
God is real.

Feral voice- bespoke madness
The cleverest keen of winter
-Begrudge me once again a whisper
Soften straw to down as wearily, warily I lay in the scratch of darkness
I am faithful in my errand
but lost in my path
Your bargaining has left me bereft of soul
And I would have it back
Whisper again a return
Or else in slipping
I rend your cloak
And find that breathing promise slack
Here, straw as soft as down
Yet heart clacks still as stone
no release to sleep
Though world I own!

Lioness of the southern hill
Such madness instilled
In drops of roar
In drips of blood
In tooth and nail

Chide me not in winter’s breath
Summer passed us both
And seasons salted wounds
we’d both promised selves to keep hidden
Yet here we stand
As unlocked pieces
Once wedded-
And though we’ve quiver full of barbs and jests
In Eros’ debt, unsung the arrow
In your arms I fall without injury
Without defense
Tis love
A felling blow well
Dare not I say, a fall to bridge the gap from darker to brighter days

For H.M.

“Mama,” says the voice
In my empty home
A question not to answer
A memory from the hall
“Mama,”
Says the voice
In the backseat of the car
Insistent and quiet
Mistakable as a mew
If cats ride in the back
I’m not to engage
I look at the beautiful sky
And its clowns and panthers and conductors
And say, I’m not playing with clouds today
The clouds are clouds again
The voice is still the voice
But I don’t play with her either.