Island

i.
In the rainforest,
life and death
at the same time,
in various stages of
green to brown
and in between.

ii.
What is the gravity
of the white moon
on the human body?

iii.
Barefooting along
the forest path,
she describes
the information
that she gathers
through her feet.

iv.
We are water
and so
is the sea,
salty and
transient,
with false edges.

v.
Night music fills
the shadow places
of the half moon.

vi.
You pull a human skull
from the grotto. The spinal hole,
foramen magnum,
lets in the idea of sunlight
for the first time
in a century or more.

vii.
Three generations tell stories
of the things they have seen
so far. They pass the bread.
They pass the wine. Three
generations listen. They pass
the salt. They pass the water.

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We Like to Call it Love

My body
is breaking, slow
like a frozen

waterfall,
and it’s all right.
I feel it

in my knees,
like the cherry trees
which certainly

are growing,
and also
dying. They still

bloom pink
each spring,
dripping

their wet pollen
onto the noses
of bees. We 

were made
for a grand
coming together,

you and me
and the trees
and all the little things,

and also we
were made for
naught. And isn’t it

a sweet relief
that both
can be?

Return

It is inevitable.
You must return
to stillness. As the nights

grow longer, and the veil
thins between
this world

and the next,
let your body be
the instrument

that guides you
back to the sweet dusk
of your own quiet

emptiness. Linger here
fearlessly,
with your holy breath

and your tranquility,
for sorrow
is the exfoliation

of the soul
and compassion,
the candle 

that will light you
through the
darkness.

Courage on Solstice

Beautiful daughter

in black lace
answers
 the door,

two children 
stand
with flowers,

warm quiche,

they remove
their boots, nod
slowly yes


to visit
her mother’s body,

now empty,

and whiter
than the snow
that falls. Their only

sight from candles,
as the sun
stands still,

preparing to return,
at last,
the light.