On Breathing

Wild roots find earth and this is how we fly,
our bodies free beneath the weight of bone,
when hands rise up like wings, become the sky,
each sweet breath climbs us closer to the sun,
and ballast from these thoughts becomes the rain,
falls into each pain I’ve guarded from you,
my vessel flooded, cracks without refrain,
as what moves inside me, moves inside you.
The inhalation opens up the gate,
the exhalation tills the solid ground,
the in and out and in and out of it,
soft feathers on the wind the only sound,
and so near silence, all wings become one
as breath moves in and out and in again.

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Shawl

On days
when the veil
is a bit
thinner,

I want to
wrap you in
the warm fabric
of my love.

***

When I
came up against
the idea
of losing you,

I walked to a field
and stayed,
until everything
became quiet.

***

Let me take you
back into
my arms, let
our tender

bodies soften
beneath leaves
that float down
like questions.

love letters haiku

light snow falls on grass
green with spring, I want to speak
to you of softness.

from the other room,
a song, and just the whisper
of a melody.

flightless blackbirds on
the tops of cottonwoods, a
stillness inside me.

this brightly painted
world, more beautiful because
your soul has touched it.

let your breath be the
calm around you, fill this space
with courageous love.

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.

Wednesday Afternoon

In this light,
everything is golden –
even the green grass
beneath the flicker
of falling leaves, and you
curled in a chair
in this blessed fall sunshine,
hair draped loose,
your thumb
in your mouth.

Golden,
your quiet intent
and the neighbor’s cat
who slaloms
through our ankles,
and the spider’s web that whips
the lifting breeze.
The season is changing.
I close my eyes and still,
everything is golden.