Talking To Comet
If only you knew what kind of
horse
you are
to me,
To listen to you
exhale
makes me greedy
for the air
I breathe
out here
where the ropes of sunlight
give me a bridle
to hold onto
***
Three Meditations on a Pussywillow Bud
I.
There is no space on earth
that couldn’t use a tree, I said aloud,
as I brought my lips to a single
pussywillow bud hanging over me.
II.
Then, in Winter, I heard her say
“I may be sleeping now,
but I will come ‘round again”
Her fuzziness
made my heart drumroll,
my fingertips throb.
III.
The more I look at her,
the more I think
truth is like this bud in the Winter—
Still hopeful in unhospitable times,
still undead to the touch.
***
Towards Peace in a More Natural Order
Song of Rebuke
Little girl, put down your knives and swords
and ask me what love is and where you can find it again
Here amidst the broken, charred and contorted.
Take off your blood-stained dress and give it to me,
I will restore it for you.
With your ripped up palm leaves,
I will sew a new home for your poems.
See what you have done in your blindness and fury,
see what has become of your love
Then take this broken jar and piece it back together
again and again for yourself.
Each time it will become more clear and delicate in your hands
more clear and delicate.
Song of Lament
Graceful God,
You held my poems in your hands.
You rode atop the wind and danced to my words
In circles of my soul.
I tore them all into shreds,
but now I lament for it was You
Who gave me whatever shape I knew of
myself to my beloved.
However immortal You are,
remember that I am just dust.
I pray
do not make my words like a pile of autumn leaves
scattered by a pitiless wind
for all is wind
Song of Resolve
No matter how many times I break...
I will repair.
No matter how many times I tear...
I will sew.
And though a wind may come and blow away
my sand...
I will never cease to build love.