The Feeding
Hundreds of little fish
somehow catapult their entire bodies
out into the air,
spreading their perfect rings
across a golden surface.
The sounds of a hundred small gulps
drop all around.
::
Something beautiful.
::
This is the most basic thing.
It happens every single day.
At sundown
the bugs come out
and the lake turns black,
silver, then gold.
The sun sets.
The fish feed.
The day exhales.
The night arrives.
The stars fall.
The moon wanes.
::
This is the most basic thing
and in me
I have all these human feelings.
My mind wonders.
My heart yearns
and my human self can’t help
but love something,
every single day.
::
This is the most basic thing.
The sun rises.
The world begins.
The humans watch,
then make meaning,
then make love,
then make something from nothing
every single day.
6.15.12
Ghost shadow
Desert Breath
The scent of life, death, dirt, stone and water
are breathing through each soft green leaf of sage.
I inhale.
This is how I taste the earth.
This is how I drink her solid body
into mine.
7.15.12
One Road Home
The sky exhales
a long wet breath
upon the earth
letting its swollen body scatter
along the hem of the horizon.
::::
One concrete road runs long
like a wispy tendril weaving its way
along this vast Nevada desert,
parched by the sun, polished by the wind.
::::
The rain is a loving thing,
an untamed strength
inside our hearts
pouring out onto the land.
::::
Our tired and wild spirits
rain down onto this road,
hard and steady,
as we carve our circumference
home again.
7.15.12
Arawaka
(Sacred Nourishment)
When a flower blooms
In the desert
The whole world
Knows
Itself more completely
::::
When the thunder sounds
Every human heart
Becomes the sky
Beating
Itself more completely
::::
Our bodies are the earth’s cry
Bleeding
Oh, sacred nourishment
For the soil
::::
Let your waters move from you
Freely
As you feed yourself in wild release
::::
Let yourself open
To the flow of love
Like the riverbed receives the rain
7.13.12
drink the sky
pressed and hung
There is a Pulsing
The world opened
like a memory,
never lost,
always waiting
like a warm gushing storm
at the threshold
of desire…
::::
the wanting
the wanting
the wanting
and then the seeking.
The senseless seeking
of your own eyes.
::::
Let your self…
let your self simply exist.
Turn the wanting into pulsing
and let the armor of your mind fall away.
Give in to the sensations of a world brimming,
a body overwhelmed by the sheer touch of the wind,
the honest breathe of your lover coming,
the sound of water rushing against the earth,
your soft body arriving home.
4.23.12
Of What Remains
Rain drops hit cement
like time bombs.
::::
Rain falls on our heads.
We’re like time bombs.
::::
Two pairs of feet
ticking away the time.
::::
An old building with nests
clinging to the ceiling,
both as empty as an out breath.
::::
The shadow of the swallow remains,
swift night bird,
dank dwellers of hollow time.
::::
Time, the only constant,
wearing away these walls
with something unconditional –
a love you can rely on.
::::
Time, winnowing down the ceilings,
making holes for the light and the rain,
bringing the swallows home,
chasing them away again.
::::
The migration of an in breath,
the certainty of an out breath.
::::
An opening in the wall.
We step through it.
The rain falls on our faces.
Nothing lasts.
Something still remains.
3.22.12
Dying Daffodils
